Chivalry Makes Dead
by Kumiko Hasegawa
Summary: When Sanji crosses the wrong pirate captain in defense of Nami and Robin's honor, he gets captured by the notoriously brutal crew. Can he survive long enough for the Straw Hats to rescue him? Warning: rape, bondage, torture, violence, swearing, super-angst. This fic is rated M.
1. Chapter 1

My first ever OP fanfic as well as my not-so-triumphant return to FanFiction. No pairings in this, just good ol' fashioned Sanji-torture. Rated M for violence and other shenanigans in later chapters.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

On the Grand Line, between the metropolis of Water 7 and the haunted waters of the Florian Triangle lies an island that by all accounts is uninhabited. Nameless, the small land mass is treacherous to any human and nearly impossible to find. Located on the edge of the Calm Belt, it is so far from any other island that a normal Log Pose would not even register its existence. Rather, those foolish enough to seek it out must first be in possession of an Eternal Pose, a rare thing for an island that offers no saleable product, resource, or treasure. Should an Eternal Pose be found, the doomed adventurers have to brave stormy seas riddled with water spouts and unpredictable currents. After passing through the wild weather, travelers receive their first taste of what the little island has to offer in the form of oppressive heat and humidity that labors breathing and distracts from the entanglement of coral reefs. From the edge of the reef, one can see the wide beach of black quartz sand that rings the island. Darker than the night sky, the sand absorbs the heat from the sun, burning the feet of any intruder and creating mirages that ripple across their expanse. Beyond the hellish beach lies a thick tangled jungle, all but impenetrable, but for the bravest soul. Unlike a typical jungle, which bursts with the growls, chattering, and chirping of countless beasts, this one is marked by its silence. Too far from any other island for terrestrial animals to swim and for winged ones to fly, the miserable forest lies quiet and dormant but for the occasional buzz of an insect.

A pirate captain cracked an evil smile from beneath his plumed hat as he watched his crew digging in the black sand. He was an imposing man, taller than average with broad well-muscled shoulders and powerful arms. It was his hands, however, that he took pride in. Each one was easily the size of a dinner plate, and the scarred knuckles indicated their knack for dishing out ruthless beatings. But those hands had other talents as well; and their victims often found that they could be as painfully gentle as they could be rough. One giant hand reached up to lift the hat, revealing wiry, knotted black hair that held its shape even in gale force winds. The other hand swiped sweat from a heavy brow that overhung deep set eyes. The captain hated the heat, but could stand it for love of this land. The Nameless Island had been his headquarters for the last year while he had terrorized the surrounding area, and he couldn't have asked for a better locale. He fingered the island's only existing Eternal Pose in his pocket as his men labored in the intense, rippling heat. This was the perfect place. Damn near impossible to find and completely worthless by most standards, his little patch of Hell on Earth was beyond the reach of even the World Government. Here he could take his victims and play to his heart's content. He had even managed to build a small compound in the center of the thick jungle, where he could keep any hostage long enough for his crew to have some fun as well.

"This one wasn't even worth the effort it took to get her here," complained his first mate as he walked up behind him. His subordinate nodded his clean-shaven head toward the broken body of a young girl as the crew unceremoniously threw her into the freshly dug grave. "Three days, that's all we got out of her before she croaked. These merchant girls have no endurance, whatsoever. What we need is another pirate girl. Those got more life in them."

The captain nodded in affirmation. This girl had cried and begged from the start, broken from the moment she stepped foot on his massive ship that now lay anchored in the only sandbar by the island. He wanted the fun of breaking his prey, craved the sheer nirvana of watching a strong will crumble beneath his touch. But his most recent victims had all been weak, some lasting only hours. He set his jaw as he looked at his crew, who had gathered eagerly around him after finishing their grim task. They were hungry as well.

"So where're we headed, Cap'n?" asked one of his men, panting in the heat as he brushed black sand from his clothes.

The formidable man looked each of his crew in the eye before finally bearing his teeth in a cruel grin. "To sea," he said. "We're going pirate hunting."

The men raised a loud cheer as they followed their captain to the ship. This was going to be fun.

* * *

A curly eyebrow twitched in annoyance as the scene before Sanji registered in his tired mind. It was just before dawn, and per the usual routine when at sea, the chef had risen before the rest of the crew to make breakfast. Making his way out of the boys' dorm, he crossed the deck of the Thousand Sunny with an impending sense of excitement. The Straw Hat pirates had only been on the new ship for a week, and he was thoroughly enjoying getting to know the new kitchen. With each meal he prepared, Sanji found a new gadget or appliance that would enable him to explore his art further and eased the daunting task of preparing meals for such a lively crew. Franky had truly left no stone unturned in his design. The cook waved a friendly "good morning" to the blue-haired cyborg—who had taken second watch overnight, right after Luffy—before opening the door to the galley and stepping inside. It wasn't until he had started the coffee brewing for Robin and went to the massive new refrigerator for eggs that he saw it. The broken lock. The lock that he had requested to keep a certain rubberman away from the food stored there. There it lay…on the floor…definitely broken. Sanji took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled through the mouth, trying to think calm thoughts. Then he opened the refrigerator door…

"Empty," he muttered, placing a fresh cigarette between his lips and lighting it. He took a drag and blew the smoke into the chilled space, completely barren except for half a stick of butter (which had clearly been gnawed on) and a solitary egg. He massaged his temples. It was too early for this shit. "Calm," said the cook to himself, "stay calm. No big deal." _We're just going to starve._

Closing the door to the empty appliance, Sanji turned on his heal and with slow, measured steps, made his way back to the boys' dorm where he found his captain snoring in his hammock. He took another drag off his cigarette, trying to calm down. No use.

"DAMMIT LUFFY! YOU MORON!" he yelled, delivering a swift kick to the bottom of his captain's hammock, sending Luffy flying into the air. As the boy's body fell, Sanji whirled on his planted foot, catching him with his other foot and sending him flying out the door and across the grass covered deck. Luffy landed on his face and skidded to a stop with his butt sticking up in the air. Rolling over onto his back, the captain of the Straw Hat pirates sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes as if someone had gently woken him. His bleary vision registered to oncoming attack just as the angry cook's heal connected with the top of his head.

"Youch!" he cried, rubbing the lump growing amidst his mop of black hair. "What gives, Sanji?"

The chef glowered down at his captain. Behind him, he could hear the rest of the crew reacting to the early morning commotion. Usopp and Chopper trudged out onto the deck, mumbling things like "Wus goin' on?" and "R'We under attack?"

"Decided to have a little midnight snack, did we?" asked Sanji, putting his hands in his pockets as he watched his captain carefully.

Luffy gulped. The look in his cook's eyes at that moment could have frozen Hell over.

"You realize you didn't leave any food for the rest of us!" yelled the blonde, aiming another fierce kick at his friend's head. Luffy leaned back, dodging just in time, but felt the air woosh past his nose.

"But I was so hungry," whined Luffy, sitting back up and rubbing his belly.

Sanji heaved an exasperated sigh. "So you ate _everything_ in the damn kitchen?!"

"He did WHAT?!" They all whirled around and faced Nami, who had just spoken from the entrance to the girls' room. Sanji suppressed a swoon. She was even cute with her hair sticking out to one side and pillow creases running down one cheek. The redhead's fists were balled up in early morning righteous anger. "Luffy! Do you have any idea how much all that food costs?!"

"It was free, wasn't it?" grinned the captain, scratching the back of his head.

Nami opened her mouth in protest, but found she had none. Luffy was right. After the incident at Water 7 and Enies Lobby, Iceberg had donated a month's worth of food to the small pirate crew.

"That's true," she said, walking up to him with her fists still clenched. Sanji took a step back as the navigator passed him. Despite her cuteness, Nami was scary.

"So it's all okay," Luffy reassured her, firmly planting his hands on the ankles of his crossed legs. "There's nothing to worry abo-"

He was cut short by Nami's right hook, which sent him flying into the mast. From the look on his face as he tumbled to the ground, it was evident that Luffy preferred Sanji's kicks to his navigator's punches.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH IT'LL COST TO REPLACE ALL THAT FOOD?!" she bellowed as she jumped on him, ready to punish him some more.

Sanji smiled to himself and pushed his hands deeper into his pockets as he watched Usopp, Chopper, and Franky try to pries the flailing Nami off of the now swollen Luffy. _Breakfast won't cook itself_, he thought, heading back toward the kitchen. _There must be __**something**__ left in storage._

He was right. Within an hour, the delectable smells of cooking food brought the brawling crew into the galley.

"Waff's fo breffast?" asked Luffy through swollen lips. Robin, who had snuck into the kitchen during the commotion for a much needed cup of coffee, greeted them with a small smile.

"Cook-san has found some oatmeal and dried fruits," she replied good-naturedly. The archeologist lifted a hand from her steaming mug and rested her chin on it. "It smells lovely. I can't wait to try it."

"Your words are to too kind, Robin-chwan!" cried Sanji, dramatically placing expertly garnished bowls of the hot cereal before her and the now seated (albeit, still grumpy) Nami. The rest were served with decidedly less flair and thus breakfast commenced.

The meal was well under way, with the crew warily eyeing their captain's stretching (er, thieving) hands, when Zoro staggered tiredly into the galley. The first mate blinked at his friends, their half empty bowls, and the pot on the table, nearly scraped clean.

"There's no food," he mumbled, helping himself to what remained of Usopp's share when the sharpshooter's back was turned.

"As always, your grasp of the obvious astounds, Marimo," smirked Sanji, as he began to clear away the used dishes. He had to sidestep Usopp who was trying desperately, and failing miserably, to reclaim his unfinished breakfast.

"You know, Eyebrow, if you spent more time in the kitchen and less time coming up with good comebacks, we wouldn't be in this mess," growled Zoro, ready for a fight with the cook at any time of day. Sanji scowled at the swordsman and advanced on him, dirty dishes still in his hands. Before another brawl could break out, Nami slammed a fist down on the table, making all of them jump.

"As much as I hate to spend any money this soon, we have to find somewhere to buy supplies," she stated matter-of-factly. The navigator spread a map she had bought at Water 7 out on the table, casting a serious look around the room. "Now where should we go?"

* * *

Sanji blew smoke rings as he strolled lazily down the center of a wide street. Partly through Nami's skill as a navigator and mostly through sheer dumb luck (though Sanji preferred to reverse the order), the Straw Hats had managed to find a small island within the day. Now the cook was wandering through the small coastal town, bags of groceries in his hands. The rest of the crew was still on the ship. With the recent release of their wanted posters by the World Government and the sighting of a navy ship at one of the piers, they had decided that it would be safest for only Sanji to go into town, seeing as his poster looked absolutely nothing like him and he was the least likely to cause any trouble (or get lost like a certain stupid Moss Head, for that matter). After a good half hour, they had finally convinced Luffy ("I smell adventure!") that this was a good idea. Of course, Franky enticing him with a demonstration of a new weapons system played a large part.

The cook took one last drag from his cigarette before putting it out beneath the toe of his shoe and stepping into a butcher shop. The store was small, scaled to fit both the town and the island, and seemed to double as both butchery and a deli. At the front of the shop were several small round tables adorned simply with square white table cloths. Only a couple of them were occupied, one in the corner with a middle-aged couple speaking softly over sandwiches and the other by three rough looking men who were pouring over a messy stack of papers, occasionally laughing uproariously. Sanji ignored them and crossed the room to the counter at the back to inspect the product on display.

_The chicken looks good_, he thought to himself. He bent over to get a closer look at the poultry under the glass, placing his already purchased groceries on the floor so he could put his hands in his pockets. There was a dish he had been concocting in his mind, and these would do nicely. He waved a nervous-looking salesman over (the man flinched every time the three customers by the door laughed) and after a very short time haggling, procured the meat for a price that would have made Nami proud. It was as he was turning to leave that Sanji saw what all of the laughing had been about.

The three men clearly didn't belong to the sleepy town, so much was apparent just by looking at them. All three of them were dirty and rugged. Two of them appeared to be brothers. Both had a similar, wiry build and mop of shoulder length brown hair. The only noticeable difference between them was the placement of some rather distinctive scars on their faces; one bore a jagged scar across his forehead, while the other's slashed across his chin. The third man was a blonde, or he would have been blonde if his hair was clean. Dirt clung to it and his skin in clumps, nearly obscuring a nose that had clearly been broken multiple times. Spread out over the table between them was a jumble of wanted posters. Amongst them, Sanji could see his own poster, along with those of the other Straw Hats. _Bounty hunters?_ he pondered, frowning slightly.

"This one would do nicely," sneered one of the brothers, the one with the scarred forehead. He lifted up the poster bearing Robin's image. "I saw their ship going around the southern side of the island earlier today."

_Shit_. Sanji stopped dead in his tracks in the center of the shop.

"Naw," said Chin Scar. He wagged his finger at his brother. "I heard she's near thirty, way too old. The boss prefers riper fruit. Besides, I heard she's a Devil Fruit user. No way we'd be able to keep her under control."

"This is the one we want," stated the Nose, raising a small cloud of dust as he moved. He toyed with Nami's wanted poster with one hand while snaking the other down the front of his pants.

Sanji had heard enough. Before the threesome knew what hit them, they were flying out into the street amongst a shower of broken glass. The butcher's eyes bulged in horror as he watched Sanji's fierce kicks propel the other men through the large display window of his shop.

"My apologies for the window," muttered Sanji, tightening his grip around the handles of the grocery bags (which he hadn't bothered to put down during the one-sided fight).

"I-i-it's fine," stuttered the shopkeeper. _Who is this guy?_

A couple of doors down, seated at an outdoor table of a small café, a pirate captain with large hands looked up from his own stack of wanted posters. He stood when he saw his men lying in the dirt, easily beaten by the blonde man that had just stepped through the broken shop window.

"Just who do you think you are, talking about Nami-san and Robin-chan like that?" growled the stranger, landing another kick in the stomach of Forehead Scar that sent him flying. Forehead Scar landed at the captain's feet with a dull thud, blood trickling from his nose and a myriad of small cuts.

"C-captain," whimpered the pirate, nearly sobbing at his superior's feet.

Hearing the crying wretch, Sanji turned to face the large man. His eyes burned with rage as he hooked a foot under the Nose and easily lifted him off of the ground. "Does _this_ belong to you?" he asked, his voice dangerous.

A grin spread across the captain's face. He liked this guy. There was a fire behind those blue eyes; one that would only be too fun to extinguish. "What of it?"

With a casual flick of his leg, Sanji launched the half conscious man into the air. The Nose bounced once when he hit the ground and then rolled to a stop not far from his crew mate. "If you or your men go anywhere near Nami-san or Robin-chan," he said, his voice shaking, "if any of you so much as look at them funny…I will personally hunt you down and _fillet_ you!" His voice rose at the end of the sentence, so that everyone on the street could hear his threat.

"Point taken," replied the captain, his voice quiet.

"Good." Sanji turned on his heel and walked away. As much as he would have loved to stick around and teach these shitty bastards a lesson that they sorely deserved, he had dinner to prepare.

The captain's grin widened as he watched the blonde disappear into the crowd. There was arrogance there too. He bent down and picked up one of the posters that had been scattered at his feet, grasping the page in his oversized hand. He smiled down at the crudely drawn image of a face that barely matched its owner.

"Black Leg Sanji of the Straw Hat Pirates, 77 million berry bounty," he said to himself. _Impressive for a first bounty…he's strong._

"What's going on?" asked his bald first mate, coming up behind him and looking at the wanted poster over his shoulder.

"We're going to try something new," answered the captain with a chuckle. He crumbled up the poster and pocketed it. "We have a new target."

* * *

How was it? Not my best work, but, alas, I'm a little rusty. It's been at least 5 or 6 years since I've last written fanfiction.

Things will start to get interesting from here on out.

Also, the dog just farted in my bed.


	2. Chapter 2

And we have chapter 2...that was quick. Partial credit for this chapter goes to whatever genius came up with KFC's most recent add campaign. You'll know it when you read it.

**A Warning**: This story will contain sexual themes. (It _is_ rated M.) Heck, this chapter will contain sexual themes. Ye be warned.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

The Straw Hats could hear humming coming from the galley as their cook prepared dinner. Sanji had been in an incredibly good mood ever since his return from town. When asked why, he had simply grinned, a fresh cigarette clamped between his teeth, and handed off half of the groceries to Usopp.

"I just got to blow off a little steam," he replied, heading into the kitchen.

"You got in a fight, didn't you?" groaned Usopp, struggling under the weight of the newly purchased food.

Sanji just cocked an eyebrow and shrugged evasively, a grin still plastered across his face as he disappeared into the galley to start dinner.

"Why do I have such a bad feeling about this?" whined Usopp after dropping off his load in the kitchen. Shaking knees gave way and he sank into the grass.

"Because you're negative?" Zoro commented dryly from his seat on the ground where he had been napping.

The sharpshooter ignored him. "Maybe we should set sail right away instead of hanging around until the morning."

"Yeah! Adventure!" Luffy agreed, enthusiastically jumping into the air, only to be quickly felled by Nami's fist.

"You idiot, we only just got here!" she spat. "Besides, it'll take two days for the Log Pose to reset on this island, so staying overnight won't make us lose our bearing on Fishman Island. We agreed to take this opportunity to rest."

"Navigator-san makes a good point, Captain," added Robin, looking up from the book she had been reading for the better part of the day. "Who knows what awaits us. This might be our last chance to relax for quite a while."

"Besides, if Cook-bro says he's got it handled, it's handled," chimed in Franky, giving Usopp, who was still frowning skeptically, a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

In the kitchen, Sanji had already set himself to the task of preparing the crew's evening meal, having already put all of the new food into storage and replaced the lock on the refrigerator. Pulling out one of the dozen chickens that he had bought in town (most of which would be eaten by Luffy), he quickly and expertly began to clean it. Well versed in how to butcher just about any animal, the cook made short work of the birds, and was just pulling one of his favorite knives out of its block when Robin opened the door and walked in.

"Hello, Robin-chwan!" exclaimed Sanji, twirling and (almost magically) producing a tall glass filled with a fruity iced beverage. He placed the glass on the table with a small bow. "For my lady."

"Thank you, Cook-san." Robin took the glass with a small smile and sat down. She reopened the book that she had been reading, all but ignoring Sanji as he picked himself up from the puddle that he had melted into on the floor and returned to working on the chicken. This had become somewhat of a routine for the two of them. The archeologist had found that, for all of his fawning and fainting, once the preparations for a meal were well under way, little could distract Sanji from cooking. This made him ideal company when she wanted a break from the raucous behavior of the rest of the crew, but still craved being near another human being. Years of being alone had given her a true appreciation for good company.

Eventually, all that could be heard was the sounds of foods sizzling in their pans and the occasional thump of a knife hitting the cutting board. Upon reaching the end of a chapter, Robin looked up from her book and silently watched the chef at work. In here, he was in his element and exuded a sort of happy calm. Sleeves rolled up to the elbow and wearing a waxed canvas apron that had "Gentlecook" written across the chest, she noted that Sanji looked far more handsome than he did in his finest suits. Robin smiled thoughtfully to herself. _It's because he's happy._ After several minutes, she got up to put her now empty glass in the sink with the other dirty dishes, being sure to mark her place before walking away from her book. As she made her way back to the table (she had left off at a particularly interesting part of her novel and was eager to get back), she noticed Sanji doing something peculiar with the chicken. Momentarily forgetting her book, the archeologist walked over to get a closer look. Quietly peering over his shoulder, she could see him deboning the poultry with deft movements of his knife, leaving the birds mostly intact and looking almost exactly as they had before. Noticing her watching, the cook grinned, his eyes never leaving the task at hand.

"The last time I made chicken, Luffy ate it so fast that he choked on the bones," he explained, placing another finished bird in his "done" pile with a small plop and pulling over a new one by the leg. "I figured I would save Chopper the panic attack this time around."

Robin smiled and nodded in understanding. _How thoughtful_. "I can't wait to try it, Cook-san."

Sanji flashed an even bigger smile, showing as many teeth as humanly possible, and for a moment, Robin thought that his eyes might have been heart-shaped. Humming with amusement, she returned to the table to continue reading, letting the sounds of cooking food once again fill the kitchen.

* * *

The boneless roast chicken was a smash hit with the crew, though not in the way Sanji had expected. His crewmates groaned in pleasure as they sank their teeth into the tender meat. The rub their cook had made using the special salt he had gotten in Water 7 perfectly complimented the poultry. Even Luffy slowed his usually frenzied pace to savor the taste as he swallowed each bird whole.

"Sanji, that was sooooooo good!" grinned the captain following a triumphant belch. He patted his rubber stomach, which had stretched to accommodate the food. "Is there any more?"

"You've already eaten seven," responded Zoro with a deadpan expression, cautiously pulling his own half-eaten share further from Luffy's grasp.

Unfortunately for the swordsman, he wasn't quick enough. In the blink of an eye, a rubberized hand shot out and scooped up the chicken from his plate. The food was half way into Luffy's mouth when Zoro sprang at him from across the table, colliding with him and grabbing at his face with rough hands.

"Leggo Luffy, that's mine!" he growled at his pinned captain, pulling the boy's cheeks out to either side and then letting them go with a snap.

"But iffs sooo good!" cried Luffy around a mouth full of stolen food. The rest of the crew laughed as they watched the scuffle, and those not in hysterics used the opportunity to finish their food before their helping could not-so-mysteriously disappear from their plates as well.

Chopper tried to keep from snorting juice through his nose as he watched his crewmates' antics. He loved the lively meals with his friends, especially when Sanji outdid himself as he had with this one. The reindeer looked at Luffy's empty plate and the others' rapidly diminishing portions. There wouldn't be much to wash off of the dishes this evening. He blinked as something odd clicked into place. There was something missing here. The furry little doctor scratched his head, taking a closer look at Luffy's plate, empty but for a few stray crumbs. Empty. _Empty_….Where were the bones?!

"Luffy!" he cried, jumping up to stand on his chair. Chopper's shout surprised everyone at the table, even pulling the captain and first mate out of their brawl on the floor. Tears welled up in the reindeer's eyes. "Luffy…I think you ate the bones."

Sanji facepalmed, using his hand to suppress a groan. He should have anticipated this.

"I…ate…the bones," said the captain, realization slowly dawning on him as he looked at his barren plate. The corners of his mouth turned down as he pressed a hand to his stomach and wheezed. "I ate the bones."

"That's a new low, even for you," laughed Usopp, pointing at Luffy as he guffawed.

"There aren't any bones on your plate either, genius," Zoro pointed out.

The sharpshooter's smile fell away as he stared at his own plate. "That's true."

All of a sudden, Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper were in each other's arms, hugging as they wailed. "I can't believe we ate the bones!" "We're gonna die!" "But it tasted so good!"

Nami proffered a nervous smile, feeling somewhere between annoyed and amused, while Robin chuckled amiably and Franky and Zoro proceeded to laughing their asses off. Sanji simply shook his head in disbelief. _They're so dumb._

"The chicken was boneless, you idiots," he finally explained, exasperated. The three on the floor blinked tears from their eyes and "oh"-ed in wonder.

"That's so awesome!" Luffy finally cried after several minutes of shocked silence. "Where did you find boneless chickens?!"

Sanji gave his captain a blank stare. He heard Zoro release a short bark-like laugh from the other end of the table. The cook massaged his temples, trying to be patient.

"There's no such thing as boneless chickens," the beautiful, sweet, talented, genius, all-saving Nami finally chimed in, saving Sanji from having to explain. "Obvious, Sanji-kun cut the bones out so you wouldn't choke."

Sanji couldn't help but to wriggle in his seat with pleasure as his lovely navigator came to the rescue…though Luffy looked decidedly less excited. Satisfied that they had moved past the worst of the panic, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.

"I wanted to save us the trouble of dealing with Luffy choking on the bones again," the cook explained between puffs. "Chopper's a great doctor and all, but I thought it would be nice if he could actually enjoy a meal without having to perform chest compressions or something."

The rest of the crew nodded in understanding and returned to their meals before Luffy could help himself them (though Franky discovered with a grumble that he was too late). Once again standing in his chair, the little reindeer did a dance, clapping his hooves together with an enthusiastic clack. "You're compliments don't make me happy, jerk!"

* * *

Usopp sighed and stretched stiff muscles, blinking blearily at the western horizon from his seat at the base of the Sunny's mast. The sun had set hours ago, the brilliant colors having long since chased after it, leaving only darkness but for a few stars that managed to twinkle through the thick fog that had fallen over the island. Turning, he could see light shining under the door to the galley. The rest of the crew had gone to bed (he could hear Luffy and Zoro having an unconscious snoring contest in the boys' dorm), and as usual, Sanji was still awake tinkering in the kitchen.

The sharpshooter stretched again. First watch was always the hardest for him. Eating dinner made him sleepy, and it was hard to keep his eyes open when all his body wanted to do was sleep and digest. He turned his attention back toward Kabuto, his new weapon, which he had been making adjustments to in order to stave off his fatigue. His head was just starting to dip down, his chin nearly coming to rest on his chest, when a hand gripping a cup of coffee shot in front of him. Usopp jerked upright just before the tip of his long nose could make contact with the hot beverage, slightly surprised by the invasion of his personal bubble.

"Wha?" he managed, blinking tiredly at Sanji, who stood before him with one mug in each hand.

"Thought you might be getting tired out here," said the cook, slightly raising the mug that was still precariously close to Usopp's nose.

"Oh…thanks." He took the offered drink and took a sip, cringing slightly at the bitter taste. It was espresso, not just coffee. The sharpshooter wasn't overly fond of the stronger flavor, but was grateful for the extra caffeine. The two sat in silence for several minutes, watching the fog swirl around the deck.

"You're still worried," Sanji finally said, "about what happened in town, I mean. You've been tense all night."

Usopp twitched. Had he been that easy to read? "I just…" he trailed off, frowning. The wanted posters and their bounties had helped to boost his confidence, but he was still rattled by how easily he had been utterly humiliated by Franky's gang back on Water 7. "I just don't want to go making any unnecessary enemies too early."

Silence fell over the pair again, until Usopp finally felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it," the chef reassured him. "We've all gotten stronger, even if we haven't noticed." He smiled confidently. "Those guys were nothing that we can't handle."

"Sure, sure," replied Usopp, offering a shaky smile in return. He took another sip of espresso and turned his attention back to Kabuto. He put on a brave face. "Good thing I'm a brave warrior of the sea."

"Yeah, good thing." Sanji grinned even wider, and headed back to the kitchen, empty mug in hand. Once the door had closed behind him, Usopp let out a nervous sigh. Sanji was probably right, so why couldn't he stop the nagging at the back of his mind?

Pulling a screwdriver out of his pocket he went back to work, tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth as he concentrated. He didn't even twitch when he heard footsteps on the deck. Probably just Sanji headed off to bed. It was a little surprising that he hadn't said "good night" though. The sharpshooter looked up just in time to see the handle of a gun flying at his face. The hard surface made contact with his temple, making stars burst in front of his eyes as he fell to the deck with a soft "oof".

"What the-" he managed before a rag soaked in some sort of potent chemical was stuffed in his face, cutting off his air supply. Usopp struggled against his shadowy attacker for less than a minute before the gas took effect. A brief feeling to regret at failing his crew yet again flashed through his air-deprived brain before his eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness.

* * *

Sanji hummed to himself as he reentered the kitchen. Feeling rejuvenated after the much needed shot of caffeine, he shrugged off his suit jacket (which he had donned to fend off the chill of the fog before going on deck) and dropped it on the back of a chair. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, but chose to forgo wearing the "Gentlecook" apron; he wasn't planning on doing anything messy this evening. Casually dropping his used mug in the dishwater in the sink, he returned to the massive pot he had left on the stove. Absolutely unwilling to waste food under any circumstances, the cook was boiling the leftover chicken off of the bone. He would let the broth simmer overnight, ensuring that the meat was cooked through and tender. With the addition of some fresh vegetables and perhaps some homemade sausage, he would have a soup that would freeze well and make an easily prepared emergency food source. Lifting the lid on the steaming pot, he smiled to himself as he noted that it was coming along nicely. And since Luffy wasn't taking a watch tonight, he was fairly confident that the half-done ingredients would still be around in the morning.

"I had no idea you were so _domestic_," rumbled a deep voice just to his left.

Sanji jerked in surprise and whirled on the intruder. _When did-_

His thoughts were cut short by a massive fist making contact with his gut, sending him flying into the wall at the back of the kitchen. Sanji coughed when he hit the wooden floor, trying not to let the impact to his full stomach make him vomit. That had _hurt_. Getting shakily to his feet, he wiped the little bit of bile that had worked its way into his mouth from the corner of his lips and glared at his attacker. He immediately recognized the man as the pirate captain whose henchmen he had so easily dispatched earlier that day. Between the massive hands, heavyset brow, and plumed hat, he was a hard man to forget.

"You really think that's wise, asshole?" Sanji sneered at him, preparing himself to fight. "Invading a pirate ship with the entire crew on board? You're a fucking genius." The sarcasm could have been cut with a knife.

The other man cracked a toothy smile, his massive body looming large in the already big galley. "I'm not interested in any of them," he responded, "just you. And I don't think that any of them will be waking up any time soon."

Sanji felt a shiver run up his spine. He narrowed his eyes at the intruder, trying to tell if he was bluffing. "If you think I'll come quietly, you're in for a whole world of hurt."

A deep chuckle rumbled its way out of the captain's throat. "Oh, I don't expect you to _come_ quietly at all. Though, in the end, I think you'll find that you will _come_ quite willingly." He laughed heartily at his own joke.

"Wha-?" Sanji's question caught in his throat as the captain motioned toward the door. Tensing himself for the coming attack, he wasn't prepared for what he saw next. Standing in the doorway, somehow crowding the space despite their wiry bodies, were Forehead Scar and Chin Scar, apparently recovered from their injuries. But Sanji's attention immediately went to the third person; for borne between them with her arms forced behind her back, coughing and sputtering as she expelled the last of the knock-out gas from her lungs, was a very disoriented and slightly bruised Nami.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARDS!" bellowed Sanji, launching himself at the men in the doorway, only to stop short when one of them put a knife to Nami's throat with just enough pressure to knick the soft skin.

The feeling of the cold blade against her skin was just the right amount of stimulus for Nami to shake the last bit of chemical induced drowsiness away. "S-Sanji?" she whimpered, her voice shaking as she looked to the cook for help.

Sanji glared daggers at the large man that still stood by the stove. He remembered the pirate captain's words from only moments before. _In the end, I think you'll find that you will _come_ quite willingly._ The cook's eyes widened slightly as he grasped their meaning, though perhaps not the innuendo. He let a pent up breath escape from between clenched teeth and stood up straight, raising his hands in the air in surrender.

"It's going to be okay, Nami," he said, trying to reassure the navigator as he saw the scared realization of what he was doing dawn on her. "I just hurt these damned pansies' feelings, is all." _I can survive whatever they can dish out. This is the only way._

"You're so sure of yourself," grinned the intruding captain. "Wonderful."

His footsteps shook the galley as he walked up to Sanji, who felt the muscles in his back and shoulders tense with every step the man took. He stopped inches from him and, with surprising dexterity for hands so large, untied the cook's necktie and roughly yanked it from under his shirt collar.

"Turn," he commanded, making a twirling sign with one finger.

Sanji glowered at him for a moment and then turned to face the wall. He let out a small "oof" as he was shoved against the wood and his arms were wrenched behind his back and bound tightly together at the wrists with his own tie. The silk was soft, but strong, and he could feel his hands start to tingle from lack of blood flow.

"Now we can have some fun," the captain breathed in his ear, stubble scratching at Sanji's cheek. The cook suppressed the urge to ram the back of his head into the man's nose, and instead let himself be turned to face the room. He gasped in astonishment.

Another twenty men had crowded into the galley, all of them sneering at him, some of them chuckling softly, and others nudging each other with their elbows and whispering excitedly. The Scar brothers were forcing Nami into a chair, binding her to it with the twine that Sanji used on occasion when cooking. She squirmed bravely against her bonds, but the fear she felt was written plainly across her flushed face.

A rough shove from behind indicated that he was supposed to walk, and with a purposefully steady stride, Sanji moved forward. He let himself be led to the front of the room and around the table, where he was promptly spun so his back faced the door, with Nami seated to his right. He turned and gave her a reassuring smile, small though it was, before being forced to bend over the table, his face pressed against the fine wood grain. He arched his neck painfully, and watched from his awkward restrained position as one of the men pulled his "Gentlecook" apron from its hook on the wall and easily tore it into three long pieces.

Sanji frowned and furrowed his brow, unsure of the men's intentions, when he felt something hard press against the back of his pants and realization dawned on him. _Shit_.

The cook's backwards kicks managed to connect with at least a couple of knee caps before more of the invading crew held him down. Sanji growled as the pieces of his now ruined apron were used to tie his ankles to the table legs. This was going to be far worse than he had anticipated. Then he remembered poor Nami. Turning his head to face her once again, he could see the terror in her eyes as the color drained from her face. How could these bastards make her _watch_?

"Nami," he said quietly, and then again more loudly when the first time didn't pull her from her terrified stupor. "Nami!"

She jerked in her bonds and blinked at him, tears beginning to fill her eyes. _Luffy. Everyone. Where _are _you?_ she thought frantically, knowing full well that they were sound asleep in their hammocks, knocked out by the same gas that had been used on her and Robin. "Nami!" she heard through her haze of fear. She gulped and looked at Sanji; saw him, still brave, as he was being bound to the table.

"Nami, you have to be strong for me," said Sanji, a barely discernible tremor creeping into his voice. The navigator furrowed her brow, trying to quell the fear and nausea that were rising inside her. "Be brave for me, Nami." Was that fear she saw in his eyes? She remembered back to their invasion of Enies Lobby, and what he had said to her and Usopp when they had doubted their strength. _Do what I can't do._

Sanji gritted his teeth as he felt his belt being undone. At some point, they had used the same twine that held Nami in her chair to tightly bind his shoulders to the table, using up nearly the entire ball of it in order to encircle the massive table top. There was no escaping now.

"Nami!" he pleaded once more, making her refocus on his face. "Whatever happens…whatever happens, don't let these bastards see you cry!"

Nami's chin trembled, tears already forming in her eyes.

"Promise me, Nami!"

She sniffed.

"Promise me, Nami! Please! Be brave for me!" _Do what I can't do_. "Promise me, Nami! Promise m-mmrrgh!"

He pleading was abruptly silenced by the middle section of his torn apron being tied over his mouth, effectively gagging him.

"You were starting to sound pretty desperate there, Sanji-_chan_," the large captain clucked in his ear, the tremors of his deep voice vibrating through the cook's body. He turned his head to face Nami, he body still bent over Sanji's. "Well, _Nami-chan_? Will you be brave for him?"

Sanji did his best to ignore him, to ignore the hard bulge that was now only separated from his naked backside by the fabric of the captain's pants, never breaking his eye contact with Nami. After a tense silence, she swallowed hard, willing away the tears that had crept into the corners of her eyes. She met her friend's eyes with a look of forced determination and nodded.

"Good," said the captain with an evil grin. He backed up a step and unzipped his fly, revealing his large, throbbing erection. "I'm going to enjoy this."

Sanji's back arched against his bonds, what would have been a blood curdling scream suppressed by his gag, as the man thrust into him. The invading object was large and hot and felt like it was going to tear him in two. White haze began to creep in at the edge of his vision as he felt the thing pull out and then drive into him harder, deeper. A massive hand grabbed at his hair, pulling his head up and slamming it back into the table. Sanji balled numb hands into fists, barely feeling his nails cutting into tender skin, as he tried to suppress the painful tears that threatened his vision. He screamed into his gag once again, feeling the captain's pace quicken, tearing at his insides.

He opened his eyes, not realizing that he had closed them, and refocused on Nami. She met his gaze, her eyes wide, but dry. Then he screamed again as a particularly hard thrust found his prostate, and his own hips moved in response. Something warm released inside him and the captain pulled out, opening the hand that held his hair, and letting his head drop back onto the table with a thud. Sanji let out a ragged breath. He could feel blood running down the insides of his legs, but it was far better than what he had previously been feeling. He slumped against the table, unclenching his fists. Then he heard it. The low rumble of the other men in the room laughing. Giant calloused fingers brushed away the sweaty hair that had fallen across his face, gently tucking it behind his right ear. Sanji shuddered as the captain leaned in close, his breath tickling his cheek.

"You didn't think we were done, did you?"

* * *

To be continued...

Reader be wary, updates for this may be sporadic. Possibly daily, as inspiration and time allow...but maybe with more time between posts.

Am I right in thinking at they were headed for Fishman Island after Water 7? All of the story arcs kind of start to run together after a while.

Please R&R! Nothing motivates quite like an inbox full of reviews. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Here we have Chapter 3. I had originally intended to update this only once a week, but I have this strange compulsion where I have to upload as soon as I finish a chapter. Kind of like going out and spending money as soon as you earn it. This story is burning a hole in my hard drive, just as my paycheck does in my pocket.

A quick reminder that this story is rated M.

I do not own One Piece...as much as I would like to own Sanji's ass. *evillaugh*

* * *

It was nearly noon, the sun high in the sky, when signs of life began to stir on board the Thousand Sunny. At the base of the mast, Usopp made irritable, pained sounds as he slowly sat up where he had lain crumpled the entire night. He coughed and sniffled, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, trying to expel the strange smell that clung to the inside of his nostrils. Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light, the sharpshooter noted that the ship was completely silent. He frowned. _That's odd._

Standing, he suddenly wobbled, feeling a wave of nausea as a sharp stab of pain threatened to crack his head in two. Usopp steadied himself against the mast with one hand and brought the other up to massage his throbbing temples. It was when his fingers met the dried blood now caked at his skin and hair that the previous night's events rushed back to him. The shadowy figures. The blow to the head. The rag soaked in knock out gas.

He gasped. "G-guys?" His voice came out a shaky whisper. Licking dried lips, he nervously looked around the deck of the ship. Everything seemed fine, untouched even. Then he spotted the door to the galley standing slightly ajar.

_I knew it_, he thought, letting out a frustrated wheeze. Slowly making his way across the grassy deck, Usopp could already picture what he was going to find. He would open the door to see Sanji casually sitting on top of a pile of defeated ruffians, puffing away at a cigarette with a mildly annoyed expression on his face. The sharpshooter would attempt to chastise him, which would earn him a swift kick in the butt and an order to wake the crew, breakfast was getting cold. Usopp preemptively rubbed the seat of his pants. The imagined kick hurt.

He was surprised to see no light shining around the door as he got closer and suddenly if felt as though his heart dropped through his stomach. "O-Oi, Sanji," he stuttered, pushing the door open the rest of the way, "I don't want to say 'I told you so', but-"

Usopp gasped as his eyes adjusted to the dark room. There was no triumphant Sanji, no pile of defeated pirates, no breakfast. Instead the sharpshooter's eyes were met by the sight of the kitchen destroyed. Broken chairs, pots, pans, and cooking utensils littered the floor. Next to the stove, he could see a large pot overturned, its contents—which appeared to be the leftover chicken bones from the night before—were spilled on the counter and dripped down the front of the stove. Further down the counter, the knife block lay on its side, most of the carefully sharpened utensils missing from their designated homes. If he looked closely enough, Usopp was certain that he could make out bloody handprints. Suddenly, he heard a ragged sob, pulling his attention away from the destruction before him to the pitiful figure, previously unnoticed, that knelt by the table.

"N-Nami!" he cried, jumping to the redhead's side. The navigator sat on the ground, half way under the table, her legs bent beneath her. She was disheveled, her hair knotted and messy. From the bruises on her wrists and ankles, it looked like she had been bound. On the floor in front of her was a pool of blood that had already begun to dry, the edges of it sticking to her bare knees, staining both her bruising skin and the floor boards.

"Nami?" repeated Usopp, tentatively placing a hand on her shoulder. His friend didn't even twitch, but continued to stare numbly at the red stain on the floor. The sharpshooter could feel panic starting to rise in his chest, the feeling gripping his heart and squeezing hard. "I-I'll go get the others!"

Nami made no response as her crewmate turned and ran from the room. She could vaguely hear him yelling for Luffy and Zoro and the others, but couldn't pull herself from the visions of what had happened only hours earlier, the memories playing on repeat over and over in her mind.

* * *

_Earlier that night…._

It took all of Nami's willpower not to join in with her friend's screaming as she heard Sanji's cries grow weaker and weaker behind his makeshift gag. She could see blood beginning to soak the oiled canvas, indicating that the cook's throat was torn and useless. The pirates crowded in the galley had each taken their turn with the chef, who still managed to buck and strain against his bonds despite his obvious exhaustion. Now that they had grown bored with using their own body parts to torture the blonde, the crew members were in the process of destroying the kitchen, helping themselves to food and drink as they went, laughing excitedly whenever they found a new tool to test on their victim. The overwhelming favorite seemed to be Sanji's knife set, which he had kept meticulously sharpened. The pirates had tried every single blade on him, cutting the restrained cook both inside and out. Nami had to fight back tears every time she saw some new kitchen implement disappear into her friend's body, only to be pulled out and roughly shoved back inside, making his back arch in pain and tears run from bloodshot eyes.

The redhead shuddered and gripped the arms of her chair more tightly. She silently prayed that the pirates would have their fill of sick revenge soon and leave. Though based on the growing pool of blood gathering between Sanji's feet, she couldn't help but to doubt that he would live to see the morning.

Forehead Scar was going in for round two, thrusting into the barely conscious captive when his captain noted the sky growing lighter through the port hole.

"That's enough," he ordered. He let his subordinate finish up, and then motioned for a couple of men to untie Sanji's ankles. With a quick slash of a bloodied paring knife that had been left on the floor, the captain cut the twine binding the cook to the table. To weak from blood loss and aching all over, the blonde slid from the table and landed with a sickening splat in his own blood on the floor.

Nami tensed as she felt her own bonds being loosened, her hands and feet tingling painfully as the blood rushed back into them. As soon as she was free, she rushed to her friend's side, taking his shoulders into her arms and hugging him protectively to her body. Under any other circumstances, Sanji probably would have said something stupid about Nami's undying love for him and had a nosebleed, but instead his head lolled to the side, his eyelids fluttering as he tried desperately to stay awake. Her dry eyes met his wet ones and she could see his jaw and throat working as he attempted to speak around the gag. With a shaking hand, she gently pulled it away from his mouth, letting the now red fabric fall around his neck. The navigator cringed when she saw the wet blood making sticky bubbles at the corners of his mouth.

"N-Nami…san," he finally managed to gurgle. His hands, still bound behind his back, twitched, nails scraping against the wooden floor. The cook was so tired, and it took all of his strength just to keep his eyes open, but he wanted to thank his friend. She had kept her promise. And he wanted to apologize. He had broken his.

"Shhh." Nami shushed him, hugging his trembling body closer and pressing her forehead against his own. She could feel the beginnings of a fever radiating through his sweaty skin. She pulled away and laid a cool hand against his heated cheek, brushing away a tear with her thumb.

"It's going to be okay," the navigator said, not sure who she was trying to reassure, Sanji or herself. "It's over now."

Sanji let go a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, and Nami's blood ran cold. She gave him a gentle shake, and then a rougher one. "Stay with me, Sanji!" she ordered desperately. "You have to stay awake." She forced a small smile as her friend reopened his eyes. "The others will be here soon, and Luffy will kick this bastard's ass, and Chopper will fix you up, and we'll set sail for Fishman Island, and-"

A cruel laugh rumbled behind her and she suddenly felt a rough hand grab her hair and jerk her to her feet, making her drop Sanji back into his own blood on the floor. He made a small grunt as he landed, and the lay still. She brought her hands up, digging her nails into the massive abusive hand. Her toes barely brushed the floor as she was turned around by her hair, until she found herself face to face with the pirates' cruel captain.

He grinned, blowing alcohol tainted breath in her face. At some point during the night, he had gotten into Zoro's stash of sake in the cabinet.

"That's a little cruel, don't you think?" he sneered at Nami as she squirmed in his grip. "You shouldn't make false promises."

She went still as his words settled in, then she began to struggle more violently. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see them using one of the pieces of Sanji's apron to tie his legs together at the ankles; they didn't bother to pull his pants up, simply leaving him exposed from the waist down. At some point, one of her kicks managed to connect with the captain's groin, drawing out a painful grunt. No longer having any fun watching the redhead's futile fight against his iron grip, he tossed her aside.

Stars burst before Nami's eyes as her head hit the wall, the chair that she had spent the night tied to breaking as she landed on it. She stumbled, dizzy from the impact, as she tried to stop the imposing man from abducting her friend.

"You stupid brats just don't know when to go down," he growled, this time landing a punch to her gut that sent the navigator flying to the back of the kitchen. She hit the wall with a sickening thud and crumpled to the floor, unable to stand. The captain cracked an evil smile at Nami as she reached a shaky hand toward Sanji. He bent down and picked up her half conscious crewmate, who at this point was so weak and dizzy from blood loss that he barely struggled, and easily slung him over a shoulder. Sanji hung there like a wet rag, sweaty hair obscuring Nami's view of his face.

"Best to give up on him, girly," grinned the captain, adjusting his grip on the cook with one hand and straightening his plumed hat (which he hadn't removed for the entire ordeal) with the other. "He's ours now."

With those last words, he and his crew left the ship, disappearing into the dawn as quickly and quietly as they had invaded the night before. It took what felt like ages before Nami could coax her bruised body into responding to her command to move. When she finally did, she could only manage a painful crawl, slowly making her way over to kneel by the door. With a shaky hand, she touched the pool of blood that marked where Sanji had lain only an hour ago. Her chin quivered when her fingers met a piece of bloodied rag on the floor, all that remained of Sanji's "Gentlecook" apron. All that remained of her friend.

The navigator bit back tears, remembering her promise to Sanji. _Don't let the bastards see you cry._ They might still be watching. Gently, and with shaking hands, she unfurled the fabric and was just barely able to make out the text at the top of the fragment, "-cook". A painful sob caught in her throat and she tightened her grip on the remnant until her knuckles turned white, holding on to it for dear life, willing Sanji to live and come back to them.

* * *

_Present…_

Chopper and Franky both jumped from their hammocks in surprise, jerked awake by the sound of Usopp slamming open the door to the boys' dorm. They blinked drug induced sleep from their eyes as the sharpshooter rushed over to wake Luffy and Zoro, the decidedly soundest sleepers in the crew. The long-nosed teen simply overturned Zoro's hammock, roughly depositing him on the floor before running over and shaking his captain awake. The swordsman swore as he hit the ground, rubbing the growing swelling on the back of his head and glaring venomously at Usopp.

"The hell, Long Nose?!" he demanded, just as Luffy came around. A rubberized arm whipped out, as Luffy knocked his friend away in an irritated, sleepy daze. The sharpshooter tumbled backwards, coming to a stop when he hit the couch, cushions and pillows raining down on him.

"Attack…Nami…blood everywhere," Usopp managed as he struggled to untangle himself from the fallen cushions.

That was all the crew needed to hear. As if practiced in countless drills beforehand, Luffy grabbed his hat, Zoro attached his swords to his hip, and Chopper pocketed a handful (er, hoof-ful) of Rumble Balls before quickly exiting the dorm and running toward the galley, followed closely by Franky, who had paused to lift Usopp from the wreckage that remained of the couch. When they reached the open door, the boys were met by the same sight that Usopp had seen only moments before, with the addition of a bedraggled Robin, who was trying and failing to coax Nami to get up off of the floor.

"What happened here?" growled Zoro, his grip tightening on the handle of one of his swords. Nami winced when he spoke, the first movement she had made in hours. She turned and looked up at Luffy, who had stepped silently into the darkened room, his presence imposing in spite of his relatively small stature.

The captain's expression darkened when his eyes met hers. He could see the blood stains on her lap and arms. Her wrists and ankles were raw and bleeding from where they had been bound to the chair, and there was a large bruise blossoming on her forehead from her earlier collision with the wall. What bothered him most, however, was the look in her eyes. They were wide, bloodshot, and glassy from suppressed tears.

"Nami?" he queried, his voice dangerously quiet. He could see the navigator's chin quiver at the mention of her name, her hands nervously working at a piece of blood-soaked fabric. "What happened here?"

"L-Luffy," Nami finally choked out, hours' worth of pent up tears escaping from their prison to run freely down her cheeks, mixing with the sticky coagulating blood as they rained onto the floor. Robin backed away, allowing her captain to crouch beside Nami, who launched at him, desperately clinging to his vest. He kept perfectly still as she sobbed into his chest, a mixture of tears and snot wetting the bright red fabric that covered it. He let her cry for several more minutes, surrounded by the solemn crew, before gently placing his hands on her shoulders and pulling her away.

"Nami," he repeated, "what _happened_? And where's Sanji?"

She sniffed and gulped, shuddering in his grasp, before finally making eye contact.

"Th-they h-hurt him…s-so m-m-much," she eventually managed between sobs. She could see her crewmates visibly tense as the anger of those in the room became palpable.

"Nami." Luffy's tone and expression of quiet determination remained unchanged. On the surface, he seemed calm, but the navigator could tell that underneath, he was seething. "_Where. Is. Sanji?_"

Nami took a ragged breath as tears sprang anew from tired eyes, cascading down her cheeks.

"I don't know!" she cried, burying her face in Luffy's chest once more. She could feel him beginning to shake with rage. "They took him! They took Sanji!"

* * *

Miles out to sea, Sanji groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. He felt something brush against his groin, and shifted away from it. His tired mind briefly registered physical discomfort, but he was so exhausted and dizzy that he couldn't force himself to care, trying instead to fall back into a fitful slumber. But the thing below his waistline was persistent, and brushed against him once again, its touch causing a not-so-unpleasant tingling feeling between his legs. The cook grumbled, irritated, and tried to move away, only to find himself swinging back into reach of the thing. Whatever it was clamped down onto him this time, and began to stroke furiously. Sanji furrowed his brow and moaned softly as he was worked into an erection. He heard a deep chuckle and wrinkled his nose at the sound. Then he felt the thing grab hard at his throbbing nether region, causing pain to shoot through his hips and legs, and up his back.

Sanji's eyes shot open as he fully woke up, a loud "hah!" escaping his lungs. The full return of his senses allowed him to gain a quick bearing of his predicament. He was strung up by his arms, his wrists still tied tightly together by his necktie, the silk attached to a large rusty hook that hung from the ceiling. After trying and failing to lift his legs, Sanji found that they had been restrained in much the same way, with a hook firmly holding the bloodstained remnant of apron that bound his ankles in place. Looking up, he tried to focus bleary eyes on the room before him, but it was no use. Directly in front of him, blocking his view stood the pirate captain that had tortured him the night before. The man grinned at the captive chef from beneath his plumed hat, his massive hand still massaging Sanji's pulsating cock. Sanji gritted his teeth and shuddered, trying desperately to suppress a moan, to ignore the painful ecstasy that the man was causing him.

"Wakey, wakey," sneered the captain, renewing his efforts with more vigor, making the blonde demonstrate against his hand.

Sweat sprang from Sanji's brow, temples, and chest and he involuntarily thrust his hips forward, his body begging for more even while his mind pleaded for it to stop. The pace of the throbbing increased to an unbearable speed and he felt his pulse quicken. Finally, something between a moan and a scream escaped his torn throat, and the pirate captain backed away as his captive came hard, splashing himself and the floor with the white fluid.

Sanji shuddered at the release of his orgasm, and hung limply from the ceiling for several minutes, trying desperately to regain what remained of his composure. He felt a hand roughly grab his chin, forcing him to look into the eyes of his captor.

"Let me get a good look at you," sneered the man, using his other hand to brush limp, sweaty hair from the boy's face. There was a little cum on his fingers, and Sanji winced as he felt the sticky substance wet his skin, trying and failing to jerk his face away from the rough hands. The captain angrily tightened his grip on the blonde's chin.

"Now, you behave and you might live long enough to see land," he growled.

Sanji met the man's glare with one of his own, defiance flashing in his eyes. "Bastard." The word came out as more of a rasp than a threat.

The captain chuckled and released the blonde's chin, stepping back as he did so. With the hulking figure backing away, Sanji could finally get a good look at his surroundings. He was being held in what appeared to be the galley of a ship, though it was more of a mess hall, based on the size. Four long tables stretched out before him, with benches lining either side. The ceiling was high considering that it was below deck, and the square footage was expansive. Small port holes ran along the wall to his left, and Sanji could see bright blue sky through them. The cook felt a shiver run through him as the true size of the ship dawned on him and he realized that the twenty men that had been in his kitchen made up only a small fraction of the crew.

He shifted in his bonds and felt a twinge of pain run up his back, likely dulling the impact of the hateful glare that he cast upon his captor. He painfully cleared his throat of blood and bile before attempting to address the vile man.

"Who are you?" he asked, keeping his voice low in hopes of saving his injured vocal cords. "Where are you taking me?"

"Iron Fist," grinned the captain, "Captain Jon 'Iron Fist' Standish. As for where we're going…"

He turned and started to walk out the door, motioning for the excited crew gathered outside of it to come inside. The Iron Fist pirates spilled into the room, easily fifty men streaming past their captain to surround their newest victim. Standish's malicious smile widened as he waved a hand at Sanji, whose body had involuntarily begun to shake.

"…you'll see soon enough. If you survive that long, that is."

* * *

And there you have it. What didja think? I have to admit, this story is my first time writing anything sexual...I'm trying my best. Any pointers or advice would be happily accepted. It feels funny writing it instead of reading it.

Till next time!


	4. Chapter 4

I felt a little bad leaving off on a cliffhanger, so I give you the longest chapter so far.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

Heads turned to stare, mixed looks of surprise and curiosity on the townspeople's faces, as the odd group ran by. Even on a tiny island far out of the way of anything important on the Grand Line, news of the Straw Hat pirates, their insanely large bounties, and their declaration of war on the World Government was common knowledge. The locals shied away from the group as they passed, harried whispers rising up like dust in their wake.

"Isn't that Straw Hat Luffy?"

"I think I saw Demon Child Nico Robin as well."

"Who was that with the long nose following them?"

Luffy, Robin, and Usopp ignored them as they desperately searched the small beach town for any sign of their kidnapped comrade or the men that had taken him. They had to hurry. Not only were the hours on their friend's life likely counting down, so too were those until the Log Pose reset, and they lost their bearing on Fishman Island.

The rest of the crew had stayed on the Thousand Sunny. Nami was still too shaken to leave, not to mention that Chopper refused to let her leave the infirmary. Franky had elected to stay to begin repairs on the destroyed kitchen. Sanji's absence and Nami's injuries were enough of a reminder of their current predicament; they didn't need the battered and bloodstained galley to rub it in. Finally, Luffy had asked Zoro to stay behind in case the invading pirates returned. The swordsman had replied with a stoic nod, the deep frown that he had worn since Nami's revelation earlier that day still plastered across his face, and taken a protective seat in front of the door leading into the infirmary. No one, absolutely no one, was going to hurt anyone else on his crew.

Usopp frowned. They had been running around like this for nearly an hour, with no luck. He and Robin were both out of breath. Luffy, however, seemed unfazed. He simply pressed on, calling out "Sanji!" every few steps. Finally, the sharpshooter had had enough. Lunging forward, he grabbed onto Luffy's arm and skidded to a halt. Unfortunately for him, his captain didn't notice until he had run an extra block ahead, his arm stretching up the street until it reached its limit and pulled its owner back with a snap. Robin neatly sidestepped to avoid the collision between her flying captain and sputtering crewmate. Luffy hit Usopp at what should have been a break neck speed, and they flew a few extra feet before landing in a tangle of limbs on the ground.

"Why'd you stop me?" cried Luffy, letting Usopp roughly shove him aside so he could sit up.

"Running around like crazy people isn't going to help us find Sanji any faster," grumbled the sharpshooter, rubbing his spasming back. He pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket and waved it in front of the other boy's face. "What's the point in having this if we don't use it?"

The Straw Hat captain stared blankly at the page for a moment, before he remembered what it was. Usopp, the most skilled artist out of anyone on the crew, had drawn a rough sketch of the enemy pirates' captain based on Nami's description. They had intended to show the picture around town, hoping to glean a name and some information. Then they had gotten there and Luffy had gotten carried away, leaving Robin and Usopp to simply chase after him.

"Oooohhh, right." Luffy snatched the drawing from Usopp. "Let's go then!"

Before he could run off, Usopp grabbed his captain by the wrist and pulled him back again.

"We can't just go running around asking random people," grumbled the sharpshooter, barely suppressing his exasperation. "Sanji had to have run into this guy _somewhere_. Nami said that they seemed know each other. What we need to do is retrace his steps from yesterday."

Luffy nodded in understanding.

"Perhaps this would be a good place to start," Robin finally added, producing an empty shopping bag that Sanji had used to carry groceries the day before. Printed on the side was the logo and address for a local butcher shop. "I recall Cook-san saying that this was the last place he stopped yesterday."

"Right," said Luffy with a tone of purpose. He stood and helped Usopp to his feet.

Luckily, with a decision made and a logical plan of attack set, it didn't take long for the trio to find the small butchery. As they approached, they could see that the display window had been shattered and some of the furniture inside was broken. A nervous looking clerk was outside, completely engrossed in the task of sweeping up the glass shards that still littered the ground.

"This looks about right," said Usopp with an exhausted wheeze, his brows drawn together as he wrapped an arm around his aching sides.

Hearing him, the small man jumped, nearly dropping his broom. He looked at the three strangers, not quite recognizing them until he saw the straw hat hanging at Luffy's back.

"St-Straw…" He gulped, visibly shaking. "Straw Hat Luffy."

"Yeah, that's me," responded the captain innocently, completely unfazed by the man's obvious fear. Stepping forward, he crammed Usopp's drawing into the shopkeeper's sputtering face. "Have you seen this guy? Or maybe a skinny blonde guy with curly eyebrows?"

"I-I haven't seen anyone!" stuttered the terrified butcher, before running into his shop and slamming the door behind him, turning over the sign in the door so it read "Closed". All three of them stared at the man with deadpan expressions as he realized that they could still see him through the broken window. With a frightened "eep!" the shopkeeper dove behind the counter and hid.

"What was that all about?" Luffy asked, frowning slightly.

"You're reputation precedes you, Captain-san," explained Robin, forcing a good-natured smile.

"But now what do we do?" whined Usopp. He peered into the shop, his gaze sending the shopkeeper—who had dared to venture out—diving back into his hiding place. He let out a defeated sigh. "That was our only good lead."

But Luffy wasn't paying attention, his eye drawn to a café a few doors down where a man was talking to the owner, a wanted poster in his hand. Without even a moment of hesitation, he reached out a rubberized arm and snatched the poster away, pulling it back with a quick snap. The two men stopped talking and stared at Luffy, their mouths agape, but the pirate captain was already focused on the stolen poster.

Peering out at him from beneath heavyset eyebrows, a plumed hat perched on his head and an evil grin covering his face, was a picture of the man that had hurt Nami and kidnapped Sanji. It had to be him; the resemblance to Usopp's sketch was uncanny. Luffy began to shake as his rage resurfaced. He didn't say anything as Robin came up and pulled the page from his clenched fist.

"Captain Jon 'Iron Fist' Standish," she read aloud. "Bounty: 95 million berries."

Meanwhile, Usopp was pointing a shaking finger at the man whose poster Luffy had snatched.

"What is it, Usopp?" asked Luffy, finally noticing.

The sharpshooter didn't respond; sweat pouring down his panic stricken face. Furrowing his brow, Luffy followed the line of his friend's pointing finger, his eyes finally resting on the other man, who was watching them with interest.

The man was of average height with wide muscular shoulders and a thick neck. Grey hair stuck out from beneath a cap bearing the symbol of the Marines. The man folded his arms, his captain's jacket shifting slightly on his shoulders as he did so, a large square jaw working as his mouth twitched in a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Luffy hummed and rubbed his chin in bemusement, squinting at the man as the gears in his mind slowly began to turn.

"Oh crap! That guy's a Marine?!" he finally exclaimed. The pirate captain turned to find his friends already sprinting away. He was pretty sure there was an Usopp-shaped cloud of dust in the spot where the sharpshooter had been standing.

"Took you long enough," yelled the long-nosed teen over his shoulder, as Luffy ran to catch up. "Geez, you really are slow!"

The Marine captain simply watched the three pirates disappear into the crowd, making no move to follow. Just before they disappeared from sight, one of his men came up beside him, saluting before addressing his captain.

"Captain Miles, sir," he said, unable to keep the questioning tone from his voice, "wasn't that Straw Hat Luffy and Nico Robin? Shouldn't we go after them?"

Captain Miles was silent for a moment. He had more pressing, albeit personal, matters to attend to, and didn't particularly feel like chasing after a pirate crew that could undoubtedly blow his ship out of the water. At the moment, he was more interested in hunting down the Iron Fist Pirates, who had had a greater hand in terrorizing the islands under his jurisdiction in the last year. Sure, the Straw Hats had a significantly higher combined bounty, and the World Government had more riding on their destruction, but Captain Miles was more concerned with the day to day safety of his charges. But the Straw Hat captain's response to Standish's wanted poster had been eye opening. _Why are the Straw Hats after the Iron Fists?_

"Follow them but don't engage," ordered Captain Miles, finally coming to a decision. His subordinate pulled a confused frown and then quickly stifled it. Signaling to another to follow him, the two soldiers disappeared into the crowd in the direction the pirates had run.

The Marine captain watched after them, his expression grim. He would let the Straw Hats take down the Iron Fist Pirates, and then capture both crews in one fell swoop, effectively killing two birds with one stone. Having gleaned all of the information he possibly could from the café owner, he shook the man's hand and made his way back to his ship currently docked in the harbor. The Straw Hats had a reputation for being tenacious, not to mention surprisingly strong. With them doing the leg work, he might be able to achieve his goal that much more quickly.

* * *

Despite the warmth of the sun shining through the port holes, Sanji couldn't stop shivering. He squeezed his eyes closed, furrowing his brow and clenching his jaw as he tried to stop his body from shaking. At some point, he had attempted to clench his hands into fists, but found that a combination of the tightly bound silk and having them raised above his head for the last several hours had left them too numb to control. _I have to get out of here_, he thought, his mind racing. The chef swallowed and winced as his dried torn throat constricted. He hissed at the pain, feeling a wave of frustration as his eyes began to burn with hot desperate tears. This wasn't the time to be crying, dammit.

The torture he had endured in the mess hall of the Iron Fist Pirates' ship had been far worse than what he had experienced in the galley of his own. They had come, one after another, seemingly with no end in sight. He had been brutally raped and viciously beaten. In addition to his wounded ass—which was still slowly bleeding, the red substance trickling down his bare legs and seeping into the fabric of his pants that were bunched around his ankles—Sanji's chest ached where some ribs had definitely been broken. Blood ran from his nose as well as his lower lip, which had been split by a particularly wicked punch to the face. The small rivulets of the vital fluid mixed with sweat and dripped from the bottom of his chin to the discarded canvas gag that still hung around his neck. What wasn't caught by the now saturated fabric fell to his already bloodied shirt, adding to a myriad of disgusting gruesome stains that gave the previously pristine garment a horrible speckled pattern. The cook could feel a bruise growing on his right cheekbone, the spot tender to the touch, but hidden by another small stream of blood that originated at his hairline. His scalp had been torn when his hair had been pulled a little too hard by one of his captors.

Eventually Sanji had lost track of the time as every painful minute ticked by, and had lost count of the men hurting him. But even in his wearied haze, the chef had remained defiant; cursing and spitting at his abusers, and thrashing in his bonds until they grew bored with him or tired of hitting him or had to return to their duties or whatever and finally left him alone.

_I hope Nami and the others are okay_, he thought, frowning slightly as he continued to fight to regain control over his trembling frame. He knew that the rest of the crew was probably awake by now. Luffy would be livid, but directionless without a level head to balance him. Usopp was probably wrongfully blaming himself, but would hide it to provide a guiding hand to his captain. Robin would come up with some sort of clever plan, and Franky would do his best to help, still a little awkward as the newest member of the crew. Through it all, that shitty Moss Head would just stand there quietly, awaiting orders…that or rashly leave the ship and get hopelessly lost. Chopper would gulp down tears and put on a brave face, preparing the infirmary for when they found him and tending to Nami.

Nami. Poor Nami.

Sanji knew that she would be the most disturbed by this, especially since she had been forced to watch. She was probably blaming herself, frozen and numb. He wished he could be there to comfort her. He wanted to fawn over the brave redhead, who had been so strong for him; watching him with dry eyes as he screamed and cried at the hands of the Iron Fist Pirates, as he was tortured in his own kitchen. He wanted to bring her a hot tea, his own special brew, to calm her nerves and wanted to make her laugh with his stupid noodle dance.

He felt a sob catch in his sore throat; small pained huffs of air escaping his lungs as he tried to keep his emotions in check. _Escape_, he reminded himself. _Find a way to escape._ He knew his crewmates were out looking for him, but that they were sorely lacking in information. Sanji himself had only just learned the identity of his captors and he still had no idea where he was (beyond being in the galley of a massive ship) or where he was being taken. He knew that if he wanted to get out of this alive and return to his friends—at this point, relatively—intact, it would be up to him to take the first steps to get away. If he could just escape the ship, maybe he could find a way to make contact with his crewmates.

Opening weary eyes, the chef carefully surveyed his surroundings. The galley was momentarily empty; a small miracle given the size of the crew. Bracing himself, Sanji twitched his legs and barely managed to suppress a yelp as a jolt of pain shot up his back from the small movement. Clearly, this was going to be difficult, but if he could only wrest his legs from their bonds, then maybe he could gain enough momentum to swing free of the hook he was hanging from. Resolutely setting his jaw, Sanji prepared himself for a second attempt when he heard the door begin to open.

Hurriedly closing his eyes, he let himself hang limply from the ceiling, trying his best to feign sleep in hopes of delaying anymore attention or abuse. Across the room, he could hear excited talking and laughter as a group of pirates made their way into the large gathering space. Sanji broke out into a cold sweat and had to use all of his remaining strength to keep his body, which he had just convinced to remain still, from resuming its violent trembling. He knew what was coming, or at least thought he did. That is until he heard the shuffling of feet as the pirates fought with something that was clearly resisting, and cursing that was obviously coming from a woman's mouth.

Immediately snapping his eyes open, Sanji looked up in time to see a group of pirates dragging a young woman through the mess hall. He couldn't recognize a single one of the men, except for the dirty one with the broken nose who had a hold of the poor girl's hair, and guessed that these crewmates had been out hunting other prey when he had been captured. Their newest captive fought valiantly against her bonds, battling against the rowdy men with every step they took. Black hair fell from a destroyed bun, the long strands obscuring her face from view. Her clothes, a white pencil skirt and matching military style blazer, were torn and stained with dirt and blood. Sanji could feel himself start to shake, this time with rage, as they finally managed to reach the end of the room, hanging her by her bound wrists on a hook to the left of the captive chef.

"You idiots are completely daft if you think you can get away with this!" she yelled, lashing out at them with her still free legs. The pirates backed away, just out of her reach; some of them sneering, most of them outright laughing at her.

"Oh, are we?" asked a silky voice. The crowd of Iron Fist Pirates separated, allowing a single man to walk through. He was smaller than Standish, but no less imposing. The sun, now setting, shined through one of the port holes, the rays reflecting off of his clean shaven head, which would have been comical had it not been for the bloodcurdlingly cruel smile that played across his lips. The man came to a stop in front of the still struggling girl and folded powerful arms across his chest. "I don't think that you entirely grasp the hopelessness of you situation, sweetie."

The new captive opened her mouth to respond-

"Hey, Cue Ball." The heads of captive and captors alike whipped around when Sanji spoke. He leveled a glare at the bald man. "Leave the lady alone."

"Don't talk to First Mate Saul like that, you worm!" bellowed a nearby pirate, swinging a kick at the cook that connected painfully with his abused chest, another rib more than likely broken by the impact.

Sanji let a pained wheeze escape from his lungs, but otherwise remained motionless, never breaking eye contact with the Iron Fists' first mate. The crew member that had kicked him, angry at being so blatantly ignored, was closing in for another attack, but stopped short when his superior signaled for him to stand down. The chef could see the barely perceptible beginnings of an irritated frown pulling at the corners of first mate's grin as he approached him with confident steps.

"You must be Black Leg," sneered Saul, coming to stop only inches from the now livid blonde. "I have to admit, I enjoyed your little performance in town. Of course, probably not as much as Billy"—he motioned toward the Nose, who was glaring daggers at Sanji—"he had a front row seat."

"Glad to hear Dust Bin liked it," smirked the cook. He could see the Nose (er, Billy) twitch in annoyance at the new nickname. "Let me down and I'll give you an encore."

Saul chuckled, drawing nervous laughter out of the other men. He turned as if to walk away, and then spun, catching Sanji by surprise as he pulled out a small knife and jabbed it up underneath the chef's ribs. Sanji let out a painful yelp and coughed, feeling the blade press deeper into his body when the first mate leaned in close.

"A little over confident, aren't we, Black Leg?" he growled at the sputtering cook before turning again to actually walk away this time, smoothly pulling out the knife as he did so.

Sanji gulped ragged breaths, trying desperately to keep his cool, as he felt more of his dwindling supply of blood soak the front of his shirt.

"I'm not done with you yet, you shitty bastard," he finally managed. His words stopped Saul in his tracks before he reached the girl, who had been watching the exchange with wide eyes. Sanji coughed, the tangy metallic taste of blood wetting his tongue. "Like I said, leave the lady alone."

The bald pirate covered his annoyance with a bark-like laugh. He faced his bold captive again.

"I heard you were soft on women, but this is just sad," laughed the first mate. "Whoever heard of a pirate defending a marine?"

The cook quickly glanced at his fellow prisoner, their eyes briefly meeting, before returning his hateful gaze to Saul. He knew he had recognized that uniform from somewhere. Not that it mattered. A lady was a lady, and he wasn't about to let this one get anymore hurt without a fight.

"Doesn't matter," Sanji growled, "a real man would never sit by and let a woman get hurt, regardless of creed." To his left, he could swear that he heard the marine girl sniff.

"Chivalry, how quaint." Saul laughed again and walked the rest of the way over to the black-haired woman, who resumed her struggling until she felt his small blade press against her throat. The pirate grinned. "What are you going to do to stop me?"

He increased the pressure, making the marine whimper as the bloodied knife broke tender skin. Sanji felt something inside him snap and whatever composure he had managed to project disappeared in an instant.

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" he screamed, struggling in his bonds, completely oblivious to the pain the violent movements caused. "I SHOULD BE MORE THAN ENOUGH FOR YOU FUCKERS TO HANDLE, SO LET THE LADY GO!"

"Is that a _challenge_?" asked the first mate, stepping away from the marine. He made a hand motion to his subordinates and suddenly Sanji felt rough hands freeing his bound ankles from the hook on the floor and then lifting him down. He squirmed against the pirates' grasps as they dragged him over to one of the tables and threw him onto it so he lay stretched out on his back.

"Do you know what the wanted posters call me?" continued the bald pirate as he walked over to the table where his crewmates struggled to pin down their captive. A wide grin nearly cracked the man's face in two. "Saul the Mechanic. They call me that because I have a certain knack for building and implementing devices for torture. The World Government is so scared of me; they've given me a 70 million berry bounty."

He leaned over so his face loomed over Sanji's. One of his men held the cook's arms, while others untied his ankles, intending to force his legs apart. The Mechanic's breath was hot on Sanji's face as he spoke. "Pretty generous of them, wasn't it?"

The cook grinned darkly, his face suddenly filled with determination. "My bounty's higher."

Before Saul could react, Sanji felt his ankles freed and sprang into action. Arching his back, he whipped his feet into the air, thankful that he was still wearing his shoes as he felt them connect with the chins of the men that had been holding them. Using his momentum, he tucked his head in to do a sort of backwards somersault, kneeing first Saul's face and then that of the pirate holding his arms in the process, knocking both of them out cold. Before the Iron Fist Pirates could fully process what had happened, their captive was standing upright on the table, hurriedly pulling up his pants before jumping down to attack.

Sanji's hands were still tied, but he didn't really need them. With a few well placed kicks, the pirates in the galley found themselves lying on the floor, coughing and groaning as the chef ran over to free their other captive. Knowing that he would not be able to get the leverage he needed to lift her down with his wrists bound together, Sanji opted instead to aim a kick at the spot where the hook connected to the ceiling. The wood cracked nicely on impact and the marine landed not-so-neatly on her behind.

"You okay?" asked the chef, helping her to her feet.

"Ask me again later," she said, drawing his attention to the grumbling pirates that were trying to get up off the floor with a nod of her head. "For now, let's run."

With that, the two of them sprinted across the length of the room; Sanji made sure to incapacitate a couple of the pirates with a kick or knee to the head as he went. Reaching the door of the galley, they found stairs leading up to the deck outside of it and climbed them, taking them three steps at a time. When they hit the cool evening air, Sanji felt his heart beat a little harder as a small flame of hope was lit. Most of the large crew was on deck, but, fueled purely by adrenaline and spite, Sanji and the marine managed to take out every single one that got in their way as they ran for a small lifeboat that was tied to the starboard side of the ship. The cook kicked one pirate in the face; his heal making a lovely crunching sound as it broke the man's jaw, and grinned. He could see the marine holding her own against the men. She hadn't taken out as many as him, but he couldn't help but to smirk with satisfaction when he saw her kick Chin Scar in the groin and steal the knife (stolen from Sanji's set) that he was holding.

Holding the kitchen knife with a white knuckle grip, she ran for the side of the ship and jumped over the railing, landing with a thud in the bottom of the life boat. Behind her, she could hear Sanji still fighting with the pirate crew as he forced his way across the crowded deck. Clamping the handle between her knees, she hooked the rope still binding her wrists over the blade; the meticulously sharpened edge easily cutting her free. Then she moved on to the decidedly thicker ropes that held the boat to the edge of the ship. She sawed away at the first, being sure to leave a fraction of it intact so as not to completely free one side of the small vessel before the other. As she moved to work on the other rope, she peaked over the edge of the rail, looking for her fellow escapee.

The marine spotted him a few feet away. His back was turned to her as he continued to fend off the never-ending horde. Down in the galley, she had been impressed that he had managed such agility, flexibility, and strength given the severity of the wounds she had seen riddling his body. Now it seemed that his ordeal was catching up to him, his burst of energy wearing off. The blonde's response time was slowing; allowing the still standing Iron Fist Pirates to land the occasional blow. And his kicks were weakening, knocking their victims back but not down.

"Come on, Pirate!" she yelled. She was almost done with the last rope. When he glanced back at her, she could already see the resignation in his eyes. He flashed her a weak smile and mouthed one word.

"Go."

Then he whirled back to face his captors, getting something of a second wind as he fought to give her a window to escape. On the other side of the ship, she could hear Standish bellow angrily as he emerged from his captain's quarters and bore down on the blonde.

"No! Hell, no!" screamed the marine. "I'm not leaving you!"

Sanji growled, frustrated. At this point, he knew that there was no way for both of them to escape. He had realized as much as soon as he had felt the fatigue from his injuries grip him once again, and when he had truly seen the sheer size of the Iron Fist crew. The only thing to do now was provide enough of a distraction so that the woman, whose name he had never learned, would have a chance to get away. He could see Standish advancing on him out of the corner of his eye. This would be over soon.

"Go, dammit!" he yelled, his throat threatening to spasm from the strain. Not waiting around for her to deny him again, Sanji sprinted the last few feet to the edge of the ship and, with an arching swing, brought the heal of his right foot down onto one of the fragmented ropes. Already stretched beyond its means, the cord easily broke, causing its mate to snap as well. The chef smiled grimly when he heard the boat splash into the water below; its passenger cursing all the way down.

"I can't decide if what you just did was noble, or stupid," rumbled Standish's deep voice behind him.

Sanji whirled to face him, a look of pure hate and determination on his face. He barely had time to brace himself as Standish's massive right fist connected with the left side of his head. Both hope for the woman's escape and regret at his own missed opportunity flashed through Sanji's mind.

And then darkness took him.

* * *

Another cliffhanger...kind of. So, kind of sorry, I guess.

Thanks so much to Xarciel, Naliams, Pocky0523, and one anonymous person for reviewing. And double thanks to IAmTheTaintedAngel and yaonne-san for reviewing twice. Twice!

Dearest Naliams,

You should know that there is a special circle of hell especially reserved for people like me. *evillaugh*

Love, KH

Please keep the reviews coming! I like to know how I'm doing, and they've been a huge motivating factor behind these daily updates. This story is already turning out to be longer than I initially expected.


	5. Chapter 5

I made a cover image. It's pretty spiffy. I kind of wish I had known it would show up so tiny. Poo.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

A cold bucket of sea water dumped over the head served as a rude awakening for Sanji. He coughed and sputtered as he tried to expel the water from his nose and mouth, the salt stinging his eyes and wounds. He shivered when a chilly breeze swept across his wet skin and shirt. It was then that he realized he was still on the deck of the ship. As a matter of fact, he had barely been moved at all. Whether out of convenience, or a sick sense of irony, the Iron Fist Pirates had used the ends of the ropes that had previously secured the hijacked lifeboat to tie Sanji to the railing with his back facing the deck. He wasn't sure what had become of his necktie, but didn't really care. The shitty bastards could keep it.

Shifting uncomfortably on his knees, he tried to turn, but found that his arms were stretched too tightly to either side of him and that the motion sent jolts of pain up his spine and through his shoulders. Even if he had been able to look behind him, the cook would not have seen anything. Night had fallen, and the deck of the ship was dimly lit with a few lanterns; their small flames casting a sallow yellow glow over the shadowy ship.

"Looks like our knight in shining armor has awoken," he heard Standish say from somewhere behind him. Sanji could hear the crew murmur excitedly in response.

"Yeah, thanks for that," quipped the cook, just barely loud enough for those nearby to hear over the splashing of water against the side of the ship. "I needed a bath. You assholes really smell like shit."

There was a moment of stunned silence and then Standish grabbed a handful of hair at the back of Sanji's head, yanking it back. The blonde clenched his teeth as his neck and back bent at a painful angle that caused his arms to pull at their bonds. He could feel the rough, weather-worn ropes cut into his wrists. Suddenly, he found himself missing the soft silk of his necktie.

"You better watch that tongue of yours…" Standish's grip tightened around the cook's hair, his nails digging into his scalp. "…or I'll have to cut it out."

With a rough jerk, he let Sanji go, the force of the action making him knock his forehead against the railing. The chef blinked several times and shook his head slightly, trying to clear his vision of the stars that had burst in front of it. Seizing the opportunity presented by his stunned captive's silence, Standish returned to addressing his crew.

"What'd you say boys? Should we show Sanji-chan what his efforts have earned him?"

The Iron Fists cheered.

"How many of you felt his kicks?"

The cheers were replaced by booing.

"I count about 80! That sound right?!"

The crew cheered louder. Sanji heard a whip crack. Standish waited until his men quieted before he continued, his voice low.

"Why don't we make that a nice even one hundred?"

Sanji began to tremble as the rowdy crew broke into boisterous applause; the pirates clapping, whistling, and cheering in anticipation of the spectacle to come. The quivering cook could feel the deck vibrate from the sudden stamping of feet as the men worked themselves into a frenzy. At some point, someone came up behind him and tore the back of his shirt open, ripping the fabric up the middle from hem to collar. He felt Saul's breath tickle his neck as he leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"I'll have _my_ fun with you later, Black Leg."

Turning his head slightly, the chef could make out most of the first mate's features in the lamp light. He could see where the man had plugged his freshly broken nose with paper to staunch the bleeding. Sanji smirked. He had aimed well in his surprise attack in the galley. Saul frowned momentarily, irritated, and then regained his composure.

"You enjoy yourself," he said. He gave Sanji a pat on the shoulder and then disappeared into the crowd on the darkened deck. He wouldn't watch. This public stuff wasn't his style.

Sanji watched after him as much as his awkward position would allow, wondering which he should dread more: his impending punishment or Saul's promised "fun". Momentarily distracted, he didn't hear the sound of the whip whistling through the night air until it was too late to brace himself.

His back arched and he yelped painfully when the leather struck him, cutting deep into the flesh of his back. _One_. The chef clenched his fists and turned his head back so he was staring at the wood grain of the ship's railing. He knew that this beating would break him, that he wouldn't be able to help but to let these bastards see him scream and cry, but he would delay it as long as possible. The air rushed out of his lungs, escaping through clenched teeth with a hiss when the whip connected again. _Two._ Drawing a rattling breath, Sanji blocked out the jeers of the crowd and tried desperately to think of something else. He heard the whip crack, this time slicing into his lower back. _Three._ The chef's mind took him back to the Thousand Sunny. Another crack cut the air. _Four._ There was Nami, sunning herself on the grassy deck, one of Sanji's special iced beverages within reach. He was glad to see that she was okay, happy even, and imagined himself going to refill her drink and offer her some sweet delicacy. Yet another crack. _Five._ A little farther down the deck sat Robin, protected from the sun by an umbrella, reading. She rested her chin gracefully in one hand as she took in the words on the page, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Crack. _Six._ Usopp was sitting at the base of the mast, enjoying the pleasant weather and sunshine as well. His tongue stuck out to the side of his mouth as he fiddled with some new invention. Franky leaned over his shoulder, a bottle of cola in one hand, providing input. _Seven, eight_. Sanji's body involuntarily shuddered. He furrowed his brow. He had to concentrate, dammit. _Nine._ He was back on the deck of the Sunny. Now Chopper had joined them. The little reindeer was worrying after Nami. She needed to wear sun block if she was going to lie out. Sanji would be happy to apply it for her. _Ten, and eleven_. The chef choked on bile and blood. His grip on his imaginary Sunny shifted and the pain became more potent. _Twelve_. He could hear annoyed grumbling begin to permeate the Iron Fists' cheering. Why hadn't their victim screamed yet? _Thirteen._ Back on the phantom Sunny, he could see the shitty swordsman seated leaning against the railing, his hands cushioning his head. Zoro's mouth was wide open as he snored loudly. Sanji wondered if the Moss Head ever swallowed any flies, sleeping like that. _Fourteen. Fifteen._ Sanji let out a painful grunt. _Sixteen._ Turning his attention away from the slumbering marimo, the cook let his feet carry him to the stern of the imaginary Sunny. He found his captain sitting on the lion-shaped figure head, his hat blocking the sun from his eyes as he looked out to sea, ever searching for new adventure. _Seventeen._ Luffy turned to him, a wide grin plastered across his face, laughing with his distinctive "shishishi". _Eighteen._ The Straw Hat captain's smile faltered. _Nineteen._ Now he was frowning, concern creasing his face. _Twenty._ Sanji reached desperately for his captain as his imaginary refuge started to slip away. _Twenty-one._ He was falling away from the deck of the Sunny. The chef could see his captain's rubberized arm chasing after him. _Twenty-two._ His friends were calling his name from the side of the ship. Even Zoro dispensed with the rude nicknames, shouting his name as the sky around the Sunny began to darken. _Twenty-three. Twenty-four._ The stretch of Luffy's rubberized arm was reaching its limit, and Sanji made one last desperate attempt to grab onto those searching fingers. _Twenty-five._ Luffy's arm snapped back and the cook's imaginary refuge began to darken, obscured by a haze of pain. _Twenty-six._ If he concentrated with all his might, he could still make out the outline of the Sunny. He could still hear the faint sounds of his friends calling his name. _Twenty-seven._ And then, quite suddenly, the Straw Hat Pirates and the Thousand Sunny were gone as he was violently wrenched back to reality. _Twenty-eight_. Fresh blood flowed as finger nails cut into the palms of his clenched fists. _Twenty-nine._ Sanji's eyes snapped open, hot tears blurring his view of the starry night sky. _Thirty._ Now he felt every lick of the whip against his broken and bleeding skin more potently than ever before; the next several strikes coming in rapid succession. _Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three. Thirty-four. Thirty-five. Thirty-six. _Sanji's back arched, trying to escape the pain. _Thirty-seven._ His lips curled back away from the gums. _Thirty-eight._ Each breath came as a ragged gasp. _Thirty-nine._ He couldn't bear it any longer; the pain was too great. _Forty._

Sanji tilted his head back and screamed, the sound vibrating loud and clear out of his torn throat. He hadn't realized that the sore muscle was still capable of producing so much noise. The cook coughed and hacked, blood pouring into his mouth, staining his teeth and lips. His painful cry seemed to encourage his abuser, the ferocity and rate increasing with every strike.

_Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine. Fifty._

White haze started to cloud Sanji's vision. There was a persistent ringing in his ears that drowned out the sound of his screaming.

_Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six…_

He slumped against the railing and unballed his fists.

…_fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine…_

The scream died away to a moan…

…_sixty, sixty-one…_

…and then to a whimper.

…_sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four…_

Hot tears splashed from his eyes. The ringing in his ears had become unbearable.

…_sixty-five, sixty-six…_

His eyes rolled back…

…_sixty-seven…_

…and Sanji fell still. The whip descended one last time—s_ixty-eight_—but provoked no response from the blonde.

Standish lowered his arm, a cruel grin splitting his face. He was impressed. It had taken forty lashes to make his victim scream, and another twenty-seven before the boy fainted. The captain raised a giant hand and wiped sweat from his brow. Whipping required a decent amount of physical labor, and he had expected to get a break long before this. He took a mug of beer that one of his subordinates offered him, greedily gulping down the bitter liquid. All the while, his gaze never left Sanji's torn back, which rose and fell with each shallow breath, the only indication that his captive was still alive. He was certain that by now at least some of the lash marks had cut to the bone. But it was hard to tell, given that all he could make out in the lamplight of the darkened deck was the swollen mangled meat that now made up the better part of the blonde's back. After several more minutes of admiring his work, Standish signaled to a couple of his men, who walked up behind their victim, each brandishing a bucket full of seawater. Forehead Scar and Chin Scar grinned at each other, the water slopping a little out of the top of their buckets, when they came to a stop a few feet from the man that had humiliated them only the day before. With a nod from their captain, the two pirates overturned their buckets.

Sanji jolted awake when the seawater splashed onto him, the salt searing at his open wounds. He let out a painful cry, his voice now small and weak, and his body began to shudder.

"You didn't think we were _done_, did you?" chuckled Standish, raising the whip above his head once again. The captive chef managed something between a groan and a sob before the descending leather cord met its mark.

_Sixty-nine._

Sanji renewed his screaming, straining his destroyed vocal cords beyond their means with every down stroke of the whip.

_Seventy, seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five…seventy-six…_

He had no strength left. He would die on the ship. He was certain of it.

…_seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine…_

The chef was so tired; he didn't think he could sustain his scream for much longer.

_...eighty, eighty-one, eighty-two…_

His cries quieted once again as he lost consciousness, only to be roughly reawakened by another bucket of seawater.

…_eighty-three, eighty-four, eighty-five, eighty-six…_

Sanji couldn't stop crying. Snot and tears and blood ran unbidden down his face and soaked the front of his tattered shirt as the unrelenting beating continued.

…_eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety…_

He wanted to beg, to plead with his captors to just kill him, but his voice had long since left him and all he could manage was a painful gurgle.

…_ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three…_

The world started to tip dangerously around him, and the pirates must have thought he was losing consciousness again, because he felt another bucket of seawater overturned onto his throbbing back. By now, he was too weak to even cry out and his abusers laughed at his pathetic whimper.

…_ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven…_

Sanji tried once again to picture his friends, but couldn't even find their faces through the painful haze. He sniffed and hiccupped. _Luffy, everyone, I'm sorry._

…_ninety-eight, ninety-nine…_

He could barely make out the lightening edge of the horizon as the sun began to rise. His breath came in small desperate gulps. They had been at this all night.

…_one hundred. _

All that could be heard on the deck were the sounds of small waves as they gently sloshed against the side of the ship and Sanji's small ragged breaths whose unsteady rhythm were occasionally interrupted when a sob hitched in his torn throat. The pirates let him hang pathetically from the railing, his arms stretched to their limit and his wrists slowly dripping blood where the ropes had rubbed the skin away. The cook was vaguely aware of a deep throbbing in his knees, which were no doubt bruising from their prolonged contact with the deck, but the pain felt like nothing in comparison to his back. Fresh hot tears welled up in his eyes as the sun started to rise on only his second day as a captive, its rays reflecting off of his wet face and hair, and shining on his bloodied body. The pirate crew that surrounded him was unable to suppress stunned and impressed gasps as the morning illuminated the brilliant red that bathed their victim's body and splattered the deck of their ship.

Standish grimly admired the full scope of his handiwork. The boy was still alive, and given a few days in the ship doctor's hands, the captain was certain that he would recover his fighting spirit. Sanji wouldn't break. Not yet. Turning his attention to the stern of his ship, Standish looked out over the horizon and pulled the Nameless Island's Eternal Pose from his pocket. The needle pointed straight ahead, guiding him to his own little patch of Hell. The man couldn't help but to grin. He hadn't been this excited in a long time.

* * *

This was kind of a shorter chapter, but it was really intense to write. Please enjoy the new story cover as a consolation prize.

Thanks to everyone for their reviews! Keep 'em coming. :D

I need a nap.


	6. Chapter 6

I updated the cover image. It has color now and I cropped it so the details wouldn't get so lost in the tiny scale. I'm debating whether I want to make the full sized picture available somewhere for people to see. I suppose if there is enough demand, I might figure something out.

Sorry for the slightly longer than usual wait. Please enjoy.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

Captain Standish let his victim hang pathetically from the railing for another hour before signaling for his men to let him down. He wanted to be absolutely positive that the boy was unconscious before taking him to see the ship's doctor. It wasn't that Iron Fist didn't want to hear the nearly broken cook's moans as the movements painfully stretched his pulverized back, but his doctor liked to have his patients in a very specific state. Bringing him one that was still awake and crying just wouldn't do. The captain watched as his men untied the bonds, letting their captive slump unceremoniously to the deck. They let him lie there for a moment while they refastened the ends of the rope to the railing, and then grabbed the unconscious blonde's arms. The toes of Sanji's shoes dragged along the deck, trailing the blood that had been splattered around them, as the men carried him to their captain for inspection. Standish reached down and grabbed the boy's chin, tilting his head up to see if he would draw a response. The cook's eyelids fluttered as he wrestled with some inner turmoil or the excruciating pain, but he gave no indication of wakefulness. Satisfied that he was ready to see the doctor, the Iron Fist captain turned and headed for the infirmary. His subordinates quickly exchanged secret looks of disappointment before following after him with their battered cargo. This new captive had been the most fun that they had had in a long time, and now that Doctor Kuroda was getting his hands on him, it would be days before the rest of the crew would get to play again.

Saul looked up from his sake as his captain entered the infirmary, followed by Sanji's limp body borne between two of his subordinates. The first mate had spent the night drinking with the ship's doctor in the infirmary. Though different in many ways, the two of them were alike in their preference for solitude when working. Both carried a great deal of respect for their captain, who needed nothing more than brute force and his physicality to break a victim, but neither of them had Standish's taste for drama or for public spectacle. Instead, Saul and Kuroda sought privacy when they worked, relishing the time alone with their victims and their respective tools.

When the new group of pirates entered the room, the doctor looked up from the beaker of chemicals he had been mixing, turning in his chair to greet his captain and crewmates. Doctor Kuroda was an unusual looking man, to say the least. Had it not been for his incredible talent for mixing medicines and the power he had gained from his Devil Fruit, he probably never would have been accepted into the Iron Fists' crew. He had an oddly smooth oval face whose most noticeable characteristics were heavy lidded eyes that always made him look sleepy and pale skin that had an uncomfortable-looking sickly green tint. A wide mouth curled into an alligator grin when he saw his newest patient. Standing, the doctor revealed his incredible height. Unbending long thin legs as he stood, Kuroda towered over his captain and crewmates, his cropped black hair brushing the ceiling.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he asked in his trademarked singsong. In a few strides, he crossed the room and crouched before Sanji's still form that still hung between the two disappointed pirates. The doctor reached out a pale hand and caressed the cook's cheek. His long fingers were remarkably gentle as he studied his patient's face; however, it didn't stop the blonde from grimacing and groaning slightly at his touch. Despite being unconscious, his patient's breathing was ragged and labored, sweat breaking out on his forehead from the effort of forcing air in and out of his lungs. Kuroda hummed and clucked his tongue. This just wouldn't do. Pulling his hand away from Sanji's face, he gave his thumb a small lick and then gently swiped the wetted digit across the boy's lower lip. He paused a moment to let the liquid soak into the skin and take effect, smiling when he saw it work. Soon, his patient's painful breathing slowed to a comfortable pace and his face calmed as he drifted into a more peaceful slumber.

Seeing that Sanji's pain seemed to have passed, or, at least, could no longer be felt, Kuroda stood and motioned for his crewmates to carry his patient to the bed in the corner. Not wanting to draw the wrath of their ship's only, and rather dangerous, doctor, the two pirates were decidedly gentler with their cargo than they had been on deck. The infirmary was Kuroda's domain, and those who did not follow the doctor's rules would find themselves in a world of pain or, more often than not, dead; even Standish bowed to the Devil Fruit user when inside those four walls. With as much care as they could muster, the men deposited their load in the bed, laying him on his stomach so as not to further disturb the wounds on his back, and backed away to allow the doctor room to work. Kuroda looked over his patient with a discerning eye, frowning slightly as he took in the damage. By now, the boy's back resembled hamburger meat, the wounds glistening in the lamplight of his windowless infirmary.

"You really did a number on this one, Captain," he scolded, never turning his attention away from the mangled skin.

Standish didn't respond, simply watching as the doctor began the first stages of his treatment. The palms of Kuroda's hands glistened as a strange substance was secreted from them. The tall man waited a moment until his hands were completely coated in the substance and then, with the same feather soft touch as before, spread the gooey liquid on Sanji's back. The unconscious cook moaned in his sleep as the substance brought almost instant relief to the pain. The captain smiled grimly. His doctor's powers really were quite useful. Satisfied that the impromptu salve was working, the doctor turned and went to one of his storage cupboards.

"It's going to take me quite some time to treat the damage," Kuroda explained as he pulled bandages and bottles and cans of homemade ointments and medicines from the cabinet. He leveled a sleepy gaze at his captain, who could distinctly make out the suppressed excitement that twinkled from behind heavy lids. A smile pulled at the corners of the doctor's mouth. "A few days at least…possibly a week."

The captain simply nodded in understanding and then shot his men a glare when he heard them groan in disappointment from the door of the infirmary, immediately quieting them. He had seen this coming, but the wait would be worth it.

With the short exchange between doctor and captain ended, Kuroda returned to his patient's side, depositing his supplies on a rolling table by the bed. He waived a dismissive hand to the others in the room, indicating that he wanted privacy, and then poured his full concentration into the task at hand. Saul raised an eyebrow as he followed his captain out of the infirmary, closing the door behind them. Kuroda was probably the only man in the world that could so easily dismiss his captain without earning a knockout punch to the face. As they retreated from the small room, he was certain that he could hear the lock click. He and his crewmates would have to find other ways to amuse themselves for the next few days. No one, absolutely no one, interrupted the Love Doctor when he had a patient.

* * *

The scene aboard the Thousand Sunny would have been funny—laughable, even—had it not been for the extenuating circumstances. Two marines sat tied together on the grassy deck, slightly bruised, but otherwise unharmed. The Straw Hat crew surrounded them, glaring down at their captives, who were trying their best to act brave. The men had been captured just before the pirates left the island. Now they were out to sea, miles of water surrounding them with no chance for escape. Several tense minutes of silence passed, before one of them finally got up the courage to speak.

"N-No matter what you do to us, we'll never talk!" growled one of the marines, clearly frustrated that his shaking voice betrayed his fear.

"Is that so?" grinned Usopp, stroking an imaginary beard with mock deviousness. "Let's see if you're still so brave after the great Interrogator Usopp puts you through his questioning!"

Both of the captive marines gulped, their eyes wide.

"Don't hurt them, Usopp! Please!" cried Chopper. The reindeer rushed over and pulled desperately at his friend's pant leg, tearful eyes looking up at the sharpshooter.

Usopp chuckled darkly, but the two men were no longer paying him any attention. Had the Straw Hats' pet just _talked_?

"He wasn't going to do anything to them, Chopper," said Zoro, glowering down at the marines who had resumed their frightened shivering. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. The movement stretched his shirt across powerful muscles, making one of the marines whimper. The swordsman smirked. "What was Long Nose going to do? Tickle them until they talked?"

He leaned in close so his face was only inches from that of the marine that had spoken earlier. Zoro's voice was low and there was a dangerous twinkle in his eyes as he spoke.

"He doesn't have the stomach for _real _torture."

The marine's eyes bulged and he began to visibly shake with fear. _I'm gonna die_, he thought. _The great Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro is going to kill me, and it won't even be a cool heroic death._ The man sniffed and closed his eyes, his chin quivering as he awaited his fate.

"C-Captain Miles told us to follow you!" he heard his comrade cry from behind him. The marine whipped his head around, facing the man as best as he could—seeing as they were tied back to back.

"Don't tell them that!" he scolded. His fellow captive sniffed.

"But I can't let them kill you," he whined. He turned his attention to Luffy, who had been watching them quietly. Had he realized how odd (and dangerous) it was for the pirate captain to exude such calm, the marine probably would have spoken sooner. The captive set his jaw and tried to put on a brave face. "We were ordered to observe your movements, but not to engage, and then to report back to Captain Miles aboard the Navire."

"I believe that is the navy ship that we saw in the harbor, Captain-san," chimed in Robin. "Captain Miles is probably the marine that you took that wanted poster from."

Luffy's frown deepened, his already white-knuckle grip on Standish's wanted poster tightening. He advanced one step on the talkative marine, who recoiled at the movement.

"What do you know about this guy?" asked the Straw Hat captain, his voice low. He held the wanted poster in front of his captive's face.

"Th-that's Jon 'Iron Fist' Standish," explained the marine once his eyes had a chance to focus on the image that was just inches from his face. "He's the captain of the Iron Fist Pirates. They've been terrorizing this area for the last year."

"Terrorizing?" asked Usopp, all of the mockery from before leaving his voice. "How?"

"Ever since they've shown up, women have been going missing from islands in the area," stated the captive, his voice still shaking slightly, but this time with rage. "We don't know what they're doing with them; all we know is that their ship will dock at an island, and then one or more women will go missing. They've taken merchants, maids, waitresses…" He let an angry hiss escape from between clenched teeth. "They even took one of our crew. We were in town looking for her when Captain Miles ran into you."

Luffy balled his hands into fists and began to shake, making the marine shy away. The rest of the Straw Hats shifted uncomfortably.

"Dammit," Zoro finally swore, unfolding his arms to scratch at the back of his head with one hand. "Leave it to that stupid Love Cook to get mixed up in this mess over a Marine girl."

Those on deck lapsed back into an uncomfortable silence as the Straw Hats' thoughts went back to their missing friend and the two marines tried to make sense of Zoro's statement.

"But that could have been Robin or me," came Nami's voice from the door to the infirmary. Head's turned to face the navigator as she leaned against the doorframe, still clutching the remnant of Sanji's apron in her hand like some sort of lifeline.

"N-Nami! You shouldn't be out of bed yet!" cried Chopper, running to her side. But the redhead was already hobbling across the grassy deck.

The two marines' eyes widened as they took in her injuries. Her bandaged wrists and ankles, her bruised skin, and her eyes red and swollen from crying all spoke to her ordeal. Suddenly it became painfully clear why the Straw Hats were after the Iron Fists. After all, these were the pirates that had invaded Enies Lobby and declared war on the World Government to save one crewmate. Who was to say that they wouldn't take down a mere pirate crew to avenge another?

"How did you get away?" the more talkative of the two finally asked. "No one's ever gotten away from them."

Nami sniffed and her grip around the bloodstained fabric in her hand tightened.

"They weren't after me." Her voice was so quiet that her crewmates and the marines had to strain their ears to hear her.

The marine frowned and opened his mouth to inquire further when Usopp cut him off.

"Is there anything else about these Iron Fist Pirates that we should know?" asked the sharpshooter.

The two marines were silent for a moment, each trying to decide their next move and hoping desperately that his comrade was thinking along the same lines. It was becoming clear that the Straw Hats had no intention of or interest in hurting them. Rather, they seemed to be on a mission similar to that of their captives: fact-finding.

"There are two things that we can tell you," the more stoic of the two answered after several tense minutes. "First, we've concluded that they must have a base of operations of some sort in the area, but we haven't been able to find it. And second…" He paused, a look of pure hatred crossing his face, darkening his features.

"What?" Usopp asked, impatient.

The marine huffed. "You should know that Saul the Mechanic is rumored to have joined the crew before they entered the Grand Line. They say that he's their first mate."

"Sam the Machinist?" asked Luffy, furrowing his brow. "Who's that?"

"_Saul _the _Mechanic_," reemphasized Zoro before the marine could pipe up to correct his captain. "He's a pirate from East Blue. A real bastard, too."

The Straw Hats watched their crewmate expectantly, waiting for a longer explanation. The swordsman simply re-crossed his arms and scowled down at the marines. If Saul was involved, this could be far worse than they had imagined. Finally realizing that the stoic first mate was done talking, Usopp heaved an exasperated sigh and rubbed his temples.

"Is there anyone else important on their crew?" he asked.

The marines looked at each other over their shoulders and then shook their heads. There wasn't anyone else that they knew of.

"That's good then," said the sharpshooter with a relieved sigh.

"How is that good?" piped up Chopper, looking down at his friend, confusion written across his face. He had transformed into his hulking "human" form so Nami could lean on him ("Did the pet just _grow_?!" "I'm not a pet!")

"Think about it," explained Usopp, at this point completely ignoring the two marines, "every enemy we take on always has three really strong guys. Luffy"—he jerked a thumb at his captain—"always takes on the strongest one. Zoro"—again, he waved a hand at the green-haired swordsman—"fights the next strongest one, and Sanji handles the third one. The rest of us are usually enough to take care of the underlings."

Chopper shook his head, still slightly confused by Usopp's logic.

"As much as I hate to think about it," continued the long-nosed teen, "when we get there, Sanji probably won't be in any shape to fight." He saw Nami wince; Luffy frowned. "But if the Iron Fists only have two strong guys, then the numbers still even out."

The Sunny's inhabitants lapsed into another tense silence. Finally, Luffy stood, his balled up fists still shaking.

"This Sandwich guy better be ready," said the captain, his voice serious. It took the rest a moment to realize that he was talking about Standish. Luffy pulled his hat from where it had been hanging around the back of his neck and crammed it onto his head so the rim hid his eyes. "Because when I find him…I'm gonna kill him."

* * *

The sun had risen, burned away the day, and was now setting on a small boat floating in the middle of the Grand Line. Lying in the bottom of the boat, clutching her arms around her shivering body as the chill of the evening began to set in, was a lone Marine sergeant. She had been adrift for a night and a day since her escape from the Iron Fists' ship. She had no food, no water, and no Log Pose. But those necessities were far from her mind at the moment. Instead, all she could think about, all she could see playing over and over in her memory was the series of events that had led to her capture and escape. The marine shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts away, but they were persistent as ever. She couldn't believe that only twenty-four hours earlier (well, maybe a little more than that), her life had been normal.

Sgt. Bailey was one of a very small number of women aboard the navy vessel the Navire. Numbering only in the single digits—there were five of them—Bailey was the highest ranking among them. The others were communications experts, a nurse, and a cook in the galley, but all of them had bonded over their common hardships and triumphs as a minority in such a testosterone driven organization. All five of them were attractive in their own way, and had had a rough time with the estrogen deprived men in their day-to-day lives, but had eventually earned the respect, as well as a little fear, of the men around them.

When they had learned that they would be hunting the Iron Fist Pirates, who were notorious for kidnapping women, they had dedicated themselves fully to the task. Not only would they help to take these bastards down, they would ensure that none of the five of them would become victims either. They had decided to learn self defense, and rose early every day to train. Through it all, Captain Miles had been incredibly supportive, proud even, of his little band of women warriors.

But all of that training and determination only went so far when a rag soaked in knock out gas was stuffed in one's face. The marine had only stepped off of her ship for a short walk and some fresh air when she had been grabbed. They hadn't even known—had absolutely no intelligence—that the notorious pirate crew was back in the area. The Iron Fists had surprised her, both with their strength and their ingenuity. The Marines had always assumed that they were using brute force to snatch their victims. The thought of the pirates using chemical weapons had never dawned on them. Iron Fist Standish had never had a reputation for being that wily or for relying on tools; Saul the Mechanic, maybe, but he didn't use chemicals.

Bailey had awoken from her drug induced sleep just in time to realize that she was being brought aboard a massive ship anchored just out of sight of the small island where the Navire was harbored. Already bound, she had fought her captors as best as she could; kicking, biting, and scratching all of the way below deck, earning herself more than a few scrapes and bruises, and a bloodied lip in the process. Though, thinking back, she had to count herself lucky. She was battered, sure, but had it not been for that pirate, it could have been far worse. Bailey frowned to herself as she remembered her fellow captive and would-be escapee.

_Dammit, Pirate. Why?_

She hadn't recognized his face from any of the wanted posters, though the nickname that Saul had used had seemed familiar. _Black Leg._ Where had she heard that before? Either way, he had been strong. Determination, adrenaline, and pure righteous hatred aside, he had been incredibly skilled at combat. But then why hadn't he escaped before? How long had they had him? What had they _done_ to him?

Bailey slammed her fist against the side of the boat, making it wobble in the water. What the hell had been with all of that self-sacrificial crap? She didn't want to owe her life to a pirate. How shameful. What would her captain say? Or her friends? The sergeant huffed, irritated, and scratched an itch inside her bra. _Wait._

She bolted upright, energy and a little bit of hope rekindled, as her fingers met the small square of paper tucked into the lining. Pulling out the little bit of paper, the marine had to suppress a squeal of excitement. How could she have forgotten about the Vivre Card? She and her friends had bought one only three days before. They had torn it into six pieces, each of them taking one of the fragments, and then stashed the last one in the top drawer of Captain Mile's desk aboard the Navire. Holding out her hand with the Vivre Card in her palm, she watched the little white slip scoot forward, pointing toward her salvation. Bailey's heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Tucking the paper safely back into its home in her bra's lining, she determinedly grabbed the oars and began to row in the direction the Vivre Card had pointed her. She wasn't sure if she had enough food or water to make the trip, but it was a start. And not only that, other memories of her short time as a captive were starting to return to her as the repetitive motion of rowing soothed her previously harried thoughts. Namely, the memory of a conversation between a couple of the Iron Fist Pirates that she had overheard when on the edge of consciousness in their boat. Sgt. Bailey smiled grimly to herself as she propelled her lifeboat forward. Not only was she headed for a reunion with her comrades, but she also knew where the damned Iron Fists were headed. There was no way that she was going to remain indebted to that Black Leg, whoever he was. She increased the rate of her pull on the oars.

_Hang on just a little while longer, Pirate. Help is coming._

* * *

So, help is coming for Sanji, kind of. But will it arrive in time? We'll see. *evillaugh*

Can anyone guess what Doctor Kuroda's Devil Fruit is? The first person to guess correctly wins a prize. (Seriously, I just haven't decided what it should be yet. A sketch? Oneshot request? Sanji _torture _request? Thoughts?)

Don't forget to review! They really do provide a lot of motivation. And things will definitely be heating up again in the next chapter. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

If you've made it this far in this little story of mine, then you already know why it's rated M, but I'll remind you again anyway. Just to be safe...

This story is rated M.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

Sanji couldn't quite put his finger on it. He was certain that there was a word to describe the sensation he was feeling, but he couldn't concentrate long enough to put it together. Like the Puffing Tom battling a typhoon, each train of thought seemed to derail before it could reach the station. Normally, the cook would have been frustrated at not being able to string a cohesive thought together, let alone find one word, but he just felt so good. So…_comfortable_.

Fuzzy? Yes, that certainly described one aspect of it. He knew he was lying on his stomach; he could feel soft sheets stretched across a springy bed cushioning his body and the left side of his face buried in a feather pillow, his arms resting on either side of his head. The cook couldn't open his eyes; they were too heavy with fatigue. If he had been able to lift those sleep-laden lids, he imagined that everything around him would have sparkled with the sort of hazy dew that things took on when staring at them from within a dreamlike state. Warm? There was another accurate, yet incomplete descriptor. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Sanji wasn't shivering from cold or blood loss or fear. He could tell that he wasn't covered by anything—he couldn't even feel any clothes hugging his body—but the mystery sensation wrapped around him like a protective cocoon. Something nagged at the back of his mind, telling him that this wasn't the sort of situation where he should be okay with being naked, but the chef couldn't get a firm grasp on that concept either and eventually dismissed it. Tingly? Now he was getting close. He had some vague memory of excruciating pain covering his back, encircling his wrists, and burning away from between his legs and up his spine. All of that had been replaced with a soothing tingle that was not altogether unpleasant. He was still tender to the touch, certainly, but he had been in worse shape before. Or, at least, he was pretty sure he had been. Again, he couldn't remember. Sanji felt a whisper soft touch caress his bruised right cheek and then another brush against his lips. The contact sent a new feeling vibrating through his body as gentle hands ran down his sides. He moaned softly as he felt those hands slowly spread his legs. That word, he almost had it. What was it? _Aroused?_

Bingo.

The hands were more active now. One of them reached down between his legs and began to stroke him. With the same barely there touches as before, it started at his base and slowly made its way to the tip and then back down again, increasing the intensity ever so slightly with every return trip. Soon, pressure began to build up in his nether regions and the muscles in his abdomen and between his legs tensed as blood rushed to the affected area. Meanwhile, the fingers of the other hand were hard at work on his buttocks. At the same time that its mate was working him into an erection, this one had been running over the smooth pale skin, working its way down until long fingers teased his entrance. Sanji moaned and shifted beneath them, encouraging them to keep going. The touching and exploring with no real action sent wave after wave of sensation through his body, arousing him more and more with no release. Finally, the second hand made its move, one of the fingers slipping inside of him. The chef tensed momentarily against the intrusion and then began to relax as a second slender finger joined it. They roamed around inside him, thrusting in perfect coordination with the pumping of the other hand, as they searched for something. And then they found it.

Sanji moaned again, more loudly this time, his hands clutching blindly at his pillow. He rolled his hips up against the hand, pushing the fingers deeper into him, waves of pleasure rippling through his body as those magical digits touched his prostate. He felt the other hand pull away from his now throbbing erection. It, apparently, was needed elsewhere, but he didn't care. All Sanji could concentrate on was the ecstasy originating in his backside as those fingers plunged deeper within him. Then the fingers began to scissor, encouraging him to relax the muscles in his back and legs. He happily obliged and hummed with a strange combination of pleasure and disappointment as the fingers were removed.

Suddenly, both hands were on his hips, their grip soft but firm, as they pulled him upwards, farther off the bed. Sanji felt something hard brush against him and raised his hips more in response. He couldn't help but to tense again, his muscles clenching, as he felt the thing plunge into him. It hurt a little, though he didn't feel like he was being ripped in two as he had before, and Sanji hissed and moaned as it thrust into him. He could feel his body and the bed beneath it rocking from the repeated action, and he opened and closed his now sweaty hands against his pillow as he was worked closer and closer to his climax. _Faster_, he thought, furrowing his brow. The pace needed to be faster. And _harder_. As if the thing inside of him had read his mind, it began to move more quickly, pushing faster, harder, and deeper into him, the hands tightening their grip on his hips so their short nails dug slightly into the tender skin. He was getting close, so close. The throbbing in his groin was damn near unbearable, and the muscles in his back, abdomen, and legs clenched and released around the invading object.

Then he felt it pull out and he slumped against the mattress, groaning and shuddering as his erection came in contact with the soft sheets. He was being turned over. The hands and the arms attached to them were surprisingly strong given their gentle touch as they rolled him onto his back. The chef briefly registered a slight discomfort on the tender lash-marked skin, but too confused and distracted by arousal, it only felt like an unscratchable itch. He lay there for a moment, panting, as his mind begged for release. The hands had stopped their stimulating, and Sanji wanted nothing more than to reach down himself and finish the job. But his own limbs weren't working. His arms felt heavy and lay uselessly at his sides. And his legs were no better, simply leaving him to lay there at the mercy of those gentle roaming hands.

_Please_, he begged in his mind. _Please __**do**__ something_.

After what felt like weeks of waiting, Sanji felt a warmth around him as something large settled on top of him, hovering over his chest and straddling his neck. One of those hands played with his hair and then ran down his cheek.

_If you want relief, you have to earn it_.

Sanji wasn't sure where the voice had come from. It seemed to echo around inside his head; its peculiar singsong filling the fuzzy space. It was a fair enough suggestion, however, and the chef was feeling oddly compliant. Something hard and warm and wet pressed against his lips, and he obediently opened his mouth and let the thing enter. It smelled of soap and musk, and tasted a little salty. He ran his tongue over it and was rewarded with a shiver of pleasure from the thing and one of the hands resumed its work on his cock. Sanji moaned around the thing, his mouth completely filled with it, and demonstrated against the massaging hand. The hand that had been playing with his hair made its way around to the back of his head, caressing it for a moment, and then pulling him upwards so that the now pulsating length was shoved deep into his throat. The chef nearly choked as it pressed against the back of his mouth, provoking his gag reflex, but quickly recovered. He continued to nurse at it, sucking and nipping and licking it, and all the while he could feel the hand working harder at his own erection.

Both his body and the one straddling him were working hard now, each demonstrating against the actions of the other. Sanji could feel himself getting closer and closer to his climax and cried out only to find his voice muffled by the throbbing thing in his mouth. The other found release first as warm liquid exploded inside him, the hot sticky fluid running down the back of this throat. It was oddly soothing on the torn muscles, and Sanji groaned slightly as the hand stopped its rubbing once again and he was left lying in painful near ecstasy as the body straddling his neck slumped against him. He could feel the other's sweat dripping onto his neck and chest; the weight of it made it hard to breath. But all the chef could concentrate on was his excruciatingly hard cock. He waited for what felt like another eternity before the other crawled off of his chest and settled at the end of the bed.

_You've done well_, said the odd singsong voice in his head. He felt the hands spreading his legs once again, lifting his hips off of the bed and pressing his knees to his chest. Sanji moaned as the wetted tip of his erection came in contact with his stomach. He heard that melodic voice again. _You've earned this._

Suddenly, those wonderful hands were at work again, one of them stroking his cock while the other explored the inside of him. By now, the chef's breaths were coming in short gasps. The blood was rapidly rushing from his head to his engorged nether region, making him feel dizzy and giddy. Sanji was certain that if he was able to open his eyes that the room would be spinning. He moaned and demonstrated against those talented hands. His arms were too leaden to move, so his hands did the only thing they could and clenched the sheets beneath them in their sweaty grip.

And then, _finally_, Sanji came. A cry escaped his lips and he shuddered as the orgasm vibrated through his body, enflaming every nerve and fiber of his being. The hands released him and the chef felt his body relax once again as his hips and legs were allowed to rest comfortably on the soft mattress. The bed shifted as the other climbed out of it, and Sanji lay there panting from exertion. He was still so tired and his body felt so heavy, but he couldn't help but to want more. Goosebumps erupted across his skin as a rag gently wiped cum from his chest and stomach. He was still hyper sensitive to even the faintest touch and could feel his nipples harden when the soft fabric ran over them.

_Wonderful_, cooed that voice in his head.

Then the rag was removed and a hand caressed his cheek. Having become accustomed to the gentle contact, Sanji leaned into the touch, ignoring the sting of his bruised cheek as he nestled into the warm palm, pinning it between his face and the pillow.

_Sleep now_, said the voice. He felt a wetted thumb pass over his bottom lip, the skin tingling as the substance soaked into it. The chef sighed and felt fatigue grip him once again. Just before he drifted off into a deep, comfortable slumber, the singsong voice echoed in his head once again. _Don't worry…we'll do this again later._

* * *

He grumbled and shivered slightly as he awoke. Now, he was uncomfortable. Profoundly uncomfortable. Sanji shifted under his covers, finding that some of his motor functions had been restored. He furrowed his brow as the vague memories of that strange recurring dream pressed in on him. That had been a _dream_, right? The cook wasn't sure how long he had been out, but the entire time, he had had that dream or hallucination or whatever over and over again. It was a bit unsettling, the idea of having a wet dream in a situation like this. The strange thing was, though, that the dream had never been the same twice. The feelings and urges always felt the same, but the sequence of events had varied with every occurrence. Sanji wrestled a shaking hand from below the covers and pressed it to his forehead, now slick with sweat. He huffed irritably. There was a headache building behind his eyes, putting undue pressure on his strained nerves.

_Shit, I really need a cigarette. _

As he massaged his throbbing temples, he felt a tug on his arm, stinging the skin when he twitched away from it. Finally opening weary eyes, the chef could see small tubes taped to the inside of his right forearm. He pulled his hand away from his feverish forehead and shifted his head slightly on the pillow so his eyes could follow the line of the tubes up to the bags hanging beside where he lay. Sanji could see two sacks dangling from a rack just out of his reach. One clearly contained blood, something he knew he desperately needed. The other was filled with a milky looking fluid. The cook guessed that it was probably responsible for the drowsy heaviness that he was feeling. As he slowly breathed in and out, he could feel bandages wrapped around his torso and shoulders, limiting the full expansion of his chest and holding gauzy pads on his back in place. The skin and muscles under the bandages felt slightly numb, likely the result of whatever his captors had used to treat the lash marks. His other wounds had been tended to as well; there was a band of gauze wrapped around his forehead where his scalp had been torn, and the blood, dirt, and, er, stains had been washed away.

_They really want me alive._

Sanji could feel hopelessness rising in his chest. Why did he feel like things were going to get worse? He closed his eyes, trying to get a grip on his emotions, and swallowed hard, only to nearly choke on something running down the back of his throat. His eyes snapped back open, and his body jerked and spasmed as he gagged on the thing. Suddenly he felt gentle hands holding him; one cradled the back of his head, holding him up, while the other patted his chest, trying to encourage him to breathe properly. Sanji supposed that, given his current state, beating him on the back to help clear his airway would have been a bad idea.

"Easy," soothed an oddly familiar singsong voice, "easy. Relax and try to breathe normally. You can't cough up that tube, no matter how hard you try."

The cook blinked, trying to focus tear filled eyes on the owner of the voice as he concentrated on his breathing. However, try as he might, he couldn't regain control. Panic started to grip Sanji and he was sure that he was going to suffocate. Apparently coming to the same conclusion, the hand on his heaving chest began to secrete a substance that looked similar to the milky fluid draining into his arm. Too weak and dizzy from coughing to try to stop it, Sanji let the hand rub the stuff on his chest. Soon he could feel a sort of numbness start to relax the muscles and he was able to breathe again. Taking deep breaths, he felt the hand move away and then pressed his own shaking one in the spot where the other had been. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the blurry shape of the owner of that strange voice and those gentle hands pulling extra pillows out of a cabinet. The man was extremely tall, his height dwarfing the room as he crossed it with the small white cushions in hand. He gave Sanji a wide, reassuring smile and bent to tuck the pillows behind his back.

Finally able to sit up properly, the cook took in the full scope of his current surroundings. Sanji could tell from the gentle rocking that he felt that he was still aboard the Iron Fists' ship, though he had no idea where. He was sitting in a twin size bed in the corner of a small windowless room. It was lit with several small lamps scattered about on the shelves, as well as one that sat on a desk in the corner and another on a small table by his bed. They cast a warm glow around the cramped space that made it seem a little more comfortable.

Cautiously removing the hand that he had pressed against his chest, Sanji reached up and winced slightly when his fingers came in contact with a thin tube that trailed out of his left nostril. It was held in place with a small piece of medical tape, and the cook guessed that this was probably—no, definitely—the thing in the back of his throat that he had choked on. The corners of his mouth twitched with a small frown as he began to pick at the tape.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," advised the odd melodic voice.

Sanji's frown deepened as he got a clearer look at the voice's owner, a man, who was now seated at the desk, watching him carefully with heavy lidded eyes. Where had he heard that voice? That strange singsong seemed so familiar.

"You've done some pretty bad damage to the lining of your throat," the man explained. Sanji could almost hear the "from all the screaming" that had been left unsaid. A wide mouth curled into a smile that almost cracked the strange man's face in two. "That's a feeding tube. I had to be able to supply you with proper nutrition _somehow_. I can't have you getting malnourished…" _  
_

The cook obediently dropped his hand into his lap. "Who are you?" He winced at the hoarse sound of his voice.

"I am Doctor Kuroda." He propped his pointed chin in an elongated hand and casually crossed his ridiculously long legs. _Was this guy from Long Ring Long?_ "And what may I call you?"

"They didn't tell you my name?" Sanji asked, incredulous. He swallowed and winced, still uncomfortable with the feeding tube.

"I keep to myself," replied Kuroda. _Why did the man look so amused?_

"Sanji."

The doctor raised his eyebrows.

"My name…" He hated his voice for sounding so shaky. "My name is Sanji."

"Well, Sanji-kun, what can I do to make you more comfortable?"

Sanji gave the doctor a blank stare.

Doctor Kuroda smiled amiably, tipping his head to the side. "You look like you might throw up at any minute. My apologies…" He raised his hand, the milky fluid glistening on his palm. "…my abilities are quite helpful for a variety of situations, but it can have that side effect."

The cook thought for a moment, trying to ignore the uncomfortable memories of the strange dreams that suddenly nagged at the back of his mind.

"You could take this out," he suggested, gently lifting the feeding tube that dangled from his nose.

"I cannot. I'm sorry."

Sanji clutched at the blanket covering the lower half of his body, just then realizing that he was nude. "Clothes?"

"When you've healed." The doctor indicated Sanji's pants neatly folded and stacked on top of his shoes in the corner. His shirt—or the fragments of it—had been discarded along with, apparently, the bloodied canvas that had been used to gag him.

"You could help me escape."

Now it was the doctor's turn to give the chef a blank stare. Sanji forced a grin. _It was worth a shot._ The two of them sat in silence for several minutes, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Sanji began to feel the nausea that Kuroda had spoken of. He licked dry lips, swaying slightly. Then he spotted the ash tray on Kuroda's desk.

"Can I have a cigarette?"

Doctor Kuroda looked bemused for a moment before quickly regaining his composure. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Gently tapping the bottom of the pack, he offered one of the death sticks to his patient. "Normally, as your doctor, I would advise you against smoking…" _…but we're going to kill you anyway._

"You're not my doctor," quipped Sanji as he took the offered cigarette. He chose to ignore the unsaid ending to the man's sentence.

Kuroda simply raised an eyebrow and tossed him a lighter. The cook caught it with only a little difficulty, wincing as sore muscles stretched, and lit up. Taking a deep drag, he held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before letting it go with a ragged breath. The nicotine almost immediately soothed some of his nervousness away and helped to quell his nausea. Sanji leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Given the breadth of the experiences, no, the _torture_ he had endured over the last…however long it had been, that little piece of normalcy was a great help. He could feel a small amount of hope returning to him. If he could just hold out for a little while longer, endure for a few more days, he was certain that the others would find him. After all, his crewmates had had—wait, how long _had_ he been aboard the Iron Fists' ship? Opening his eyes, the chef turned and faced Kuroda, who had lit a cigarette of his own.

"How long was I out?"

The doctor casually blew smoke rings before he answered, drawing out the tense silence in the room. Sanji clenched his jaw as he waited. He was slowly beginning to understand how the seemingly gentle man could be part of such a brutal pirate crew.

"Four days," Kuroda finally answered.

Sanji's heart felt like it dropped out of his chest and onto the floor. It had been nearly a week since his abduction from the Sunny. That was a week that his captors had had to put as much distance as possible between their captive and his crew. He took another shaky drag off of his cigarette, trying desperately to regain his composure.

Kuroda offered what the blonde guessed was meant to be a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, as long as you are in here, the others in the crew won't touch you. Not even the captain."

"H-How"—he hissed, annoyed at the fear in his voice—"how much longer until you hand me back to that bastard?"

If he could escape while he was still under the doctor's care, or if Luffy and the others tracked him down during that time, Sanji was certain that he could survive. Kuroda was creepy, but he was leaps and bounds better to deal with than the rest of the crew. Hell, he had been smoking and making small talk with the man, a far cry from the repeated rape and beatings he had endured before. Granted, the doctor's odd powers, obviously gained from a Devil Fruit, made him uneasy; but what was the worst that a man who secreted salve from his skin could do?

"Two days, I think," replied the doctor, smoke from a freshly exhaled breath curling around his head.

Sanji only nodded, thoughts about possible escape plans already whirling around his mind. He certainly felt better, stronger. With two more days to heal hidden away from the brutality of the rest of his captors, anything was possible.

"You're thinking of escaping," said Kuroda as he put out his cigarette in the ash tray on his desk. "Don't."

"Think I can't take you, shitty doctor?" asked the cook, leveling a defiant glare at the man. "What are you going to do, squirt healing salve at me?"

Doctor Kuroda slowly stood, towering over his bedridden patient. "I don't think you entirely understand your situation, Sanji-kun."

Sanji winced as he heard that familiar singsong creep back into the doctor's voice. Where had he heard that? The obscenely tall man advanced on him, both of his palms glistening with their milky substance. Before the cook could react, long arms shot towards his body, one hand pressing down on his chest and forcing him to lie back while the other yanked away his covers. The doctor leaned in close, a crocodile-like smile spreading across his face. His patient's eyes grew wide. He was finally putting the pieces together. The blonde's breathing became labored as the liquid soaked into his skin, making him drowsy. His arms and legs were starting to feel heavy. The shaking hand that had been holding his cigarette dropped to the side like a lead weight, letting the half-finished glowing stick fall to the floor.

"This little miracle salve of mine isn't just good as an anesthesia or painkiller," he whispered to his now incapacitated patient. The cook couldn't help but to cry out when the doctor reached down with his other hand and grabbed him between the legs, coating the area with the unusual substance. The familiar fuzzy, warm, tingling feeling of arousal began to spread through his body like wildfire, and Sanji could feel himself start to tremble. Those memories from before…they hadn't been a dream. Kuroda's eyes twinkled with excitement from beneath their heavy lids.

"Its best use," said Doctor Kuroda, "is as an aphrodisiac."

* * *

How didja like it? That was probably the longest sex scene I've ever written. 1900 words total, give or take. I must say, anesthetized horny Sanji is really entertaining to write.

A HUGE thanks to the lovelies that reviewed. As always, your kind words are a huge encouragement to keep going. However, only hikarinozephyr ventured at guess at Doctor Kuroda's Devil Fruit. Sorry deary, close but no cigar. It'll be a few chapters yet before it's revealed. So keep on guessing! I'm serious about the prize thing. I'll give all of you a hint. Kuroda is a Zoan type user.

This is much more fun (oh, how cruel) to come! The Iron Fists should be reaching their Nameless Island soon. I wonder what awaits poor Sanji there? Heh heh


	8. Chapter 8

Another chapter for my lovelies.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

The next two days passed for Sanji in a drug induced haze of sex, sleep, and shame. The captive chef couldn't help but to hate himself, to hate his body for betraying him. Having become aware that those wet dreams had, in fact, been reality, he had mentally begged his treacherous body not to respond to Doctor Kuroda's advances. But under the power of that potent aphrodisiac, no amount of mental pleading could stop the goosebumps erupting across his flesh at the doctor's feather soft touches, or his hips from grinding upwards into the other man's grip, or the aroused moans escaping his lips. Sanji was putty in the doctor's hands, completely malleable and always begging for more in spite of his inner resistance. Soon, the chef found himself almost missing the brutality of the Iron Fist crew. The pain had been excruciating, but at least there had been no question as to whether or not he was being taken against his will. With Standish and the rest of his crew, he could kick and scream and fight and be absolutely certain that he didn't want what was happening to him. But here in his soft bed in the small darkened infirmary, Sanji felt more like a willing participant than a victim, and the thought made him sick. What would his crewmates think if they found out? What would Nami and Robin think? Here was their Love Cook, Sanji the Ladies' Man, squirming and moaning with pleasure at the touch of another man. He told himself that it was all a result of the drugs stimulating his body in ways that he had never imagined possible, but it was difficult to write off what he felt when the doctor caressed him so gently and brought him to his climax over and over again as if they had always been lovers.

At some point during those two agonizingly long days, the cook became aware that they were passing through stormy seas. The ship rocked violently around him, and bottles of medicine and other supplies fell from the shelves, making Kuroda curse, as the pirates passed through the squall. The movement was jarring on Sanji's drugged body, and he got seasick for the first time in his life. Doctor Kuroda barely arrived in time with a bowl, thrusting it under his patient's mouth just as he began to vomit. The blonde coughed and hacked as he expelled the vile fluid from his stomach. When he was done, he opened bleary tear-filled eyes and shuddered. The bile in the bowl now nestled between crossed legs in his blanketed lap swirled pink and white from the mixture of blood and cum that he had swallowed over the last several days. _How disgusting._

Sanji clenched his teeth and tightened his grip around the wide bowl with shaking hands, trying to get his emotions under control. All of the rationalizing he had done only helped so much when he was confronted with physical evidence of what he had been doing in that small room for the last week. Betrayed by his body once again, the cook felt tears spill from his eyes, the hot salty liquid burning as it cascaded over flushed cheeks and dripped into the vomit filled bowl in his lap. When had he become so damned _weak_? He closed his eyes as tightly as possible, hoping to trap the tears behind his eyelids, but it was no use. His shoulders shook with each sob as Sanji let his emotions roll over him and felt his heart break little by little.

Eventually, he felt gentle hands over his quivering ones, the long fingers coaxing his to relinquish their death grip on the bowl. After a few small tugs, Kuroda won the tug-of-war and took the vessel away. Sanji didn't move as he heard the door to the infirmary open and close, the lock clicking before the doctor left to dump the vomit. Instead, he simply sat in his small bed and let his tears splash onto his hands which rested in his lap palms up as if the bowl were still there. He barely noticed when the door opened and closed upon the doctor's return or when the mattress sank slightly as the man sat on the edge of the bed beside him. The blonde shuddered and hiccupped when he felt Kuroda's slender hands caress his face, thumbs wiping tears away as the other fingers traveled down to trace his jaw line.

"Hush now," cooed the doctor in his singsong.

Sanji felt the familiar touch of a wetted thumb over his lower lip and swayed slightly as the drug induced drowsiness gripped him. Unable to fight the strong anesthetic, he let himself be pushed back on the bed as the doctor settled on top of him.

"No more tears now," he heard Kuroda sooth as he applied the aphrodisiac to the now sensitive area between the cook's legs. The words left unspoken hung heavy in the air. _You'll ruin the mood._

But the salty water continued to flow from Sanji's closed eyes as arousal washed over him, the only act of defiance that he would manage while under the Love Doctor's care.

* * *

Sanji knew for certain that his time in the infirmary was over when he awoke to the sounds of water lapping at the sides of the ship and an unbearable humidity that clung to his skin. When he heard the rough voices of the boisterous crew around him, he quickly opened his eyes only to cram them closed again as bright sunlight assaulted vision that had grown accustomed to the dim windowless infirmary. After gulping down several bracing breaths, the cook ventured a wary peak at his surroundings, opening his eyes more slowly this time to allow them to adjust to the light.

He found himself on the deck of the ship for the first time since his public whipping. Shifting slightly, he found that he had been tied to the foremast of the massive ship. Though still bandaged, his back ached where it rubbed up against the rough wood and when sweat dripped over the wounds. His shoulders hurt as well, though not from injury. Sanji's arms were stretched out to either side of him, angling backwards at an uncomfortable angle with weather worn ropes binding his wrists in place. More of the cord circled his torso and his legs—once again clothed in his bloodstained pants—just below the knees, firmly holding him to the mast. Looking up, he could see that he had been positioned so that he faced the prow of the ship. Miles of ocean stretched out before him. The thin blue line of the horizon was unbroken, except for the slowly growing speck in the center that indicated that the pirates were nearing their destination.

"I wanted you to get a good look at the beach where you'll be buried," rumbled Standish from somewhere to his left.

Sanji turned his head to look at the captain through a veil of sweaty hair. The salty moisture that dripped from his bangs stung his eyes as he glared at the man, who never turned his gaze away from the approaching land mass. Damn, the heat and humidity were dreadful. The cook could only imagine what the island would be like.

"How thoughtful," sneered the captive chef, his words dripping with venom. He could feel some of his old fight returning to him as Kuroda's drugs began to fade from his system. Despite the shame that he still felt, the week of rest had done Sanji some good.

"You know, I really wanted to cut that tongue out of that smart mouth of yours," remarked the Iron Fist captain, finally breaking his gaze out to sea as he turned and walked the few remaining feet to where Sanji was bound. With a quick movement, he took his captive's face in one hand, his firm grip digging into the blonde's jaw, causing fresh bruises. Standish ran the thumb of his other hand over Sanji's lips, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "But Kuroda tells me that it's quite _talented_. I'd like to test that for myself."

Sanji's eyes flashed with renewed hatred, and he tried and failed to jerk his face from Standish's iron grip, snapping his teeth at the thumb that had been stroking his mouth. "Try it, shitty bastard, and I'll bite it off."

The captain's grin disappeared and his grip around his captive's jaw tightened painfully. "Perhaps I should have Saul pull your teeth," he threatened.

Captor and captive glared at each other for several minutes. Sanji suppressed a wince as he felt the other man's fingers dig painfully into his skin; he absolutely refused to lose this battle of wills. He clenched his jaw—as best as he could—and furrowed his brow, but never broke eye contact. Finally, Standish chose to finish the staring contest. Letting go of the cook's chin, he roughly backhanded him, his massive knuckles splitting the already bruised skin on Sanji's right cheek. Momentarily stunned by the surprise attack, the blonde simply hung from the mast for a moment before looking back up to once again meet the captain's gaze, only to find an empty deck and the horizon before him. Standish had used his chance to slip away without admitting defeat. The reefs that surrounded the island were fast approaching, and the captain had to be sure that they were properly navigated.

Once he was certain that the Iron Fist captain was well out of sight, Sanji cautiously opened and closed his mouth, wincing when he felt his bruised jaw pop. Just what he needed, another body part to add to his list of aches and pains. Trying his best to ignore the soreness of the fresh bruises blossoming on his jaw line, he worked the muscles for a few minutes more and then turned his full attention to the horizon and the approaching island. Based on the deftness with which the Iron Fist crew navigated through the treacherous reefs that surrounded the small island, the cook could only guess that they visited this place frequently.

In what seemed like no time at all, the island clearly came into view. From his spot tied to the foremast of the ship, the captive chef had an unobstructed view of the hell that lay ahead. The island was tiny, even smaller than the one he had been snatched from. Sanji guessed that the area of the reef that surrounded the small land mass was easily double that of the island itself. And the place looked miserable. The center of it was covered by jungle so dense that it looked like a dark green stain in the middle of the ocean. But its most noticeable attribute was the wide black beach. It was already horrendously hot and humid aboard the ship, with not so much as a breeze to offer relief, but the beach looked much worse. Even at a distance, the cook could see the hot air rippling over the sand. A frown twitched at the corners of his mouth. Standish had said that this was where he would be buried. Sanji briefly wondered how many bodies already lay beneath that hellish black sand. He quickly shook his head to clear the morbid thought away. He would not be joining them, absolutely not. Hell no.

As the ship made its way around the island, still carefully weaving through the reef, a couple of smaller ships came into sight. Straining against his bonds, Sanji stretched his vision as far as he could, hoping against hope to see a lion shaped figure head or Straw Hat flag flying from one of those ships. No such luck. He dropped his head slightly before looking back up. He should have known better. He was a week removed from his crewmates, who likely had no idea where he was. Not to mention the fact that neither of the ships floating at that sandbar were nearly large enough to be the Thousand Sunny. At best, the largest of the two was the same size as the Going Merry had been. _Probably for supply runs and small raiding parties_, he thought with a frown. Sanji perked up slightly. _Or escape._

Hope swelled in his chest. All he had to do was somehow get away when they landed and hijack one of those boats. The smaller one would be easier to pilot by himself, but, really, either would do. As long as it floated. With his resolve set and something of a plan beginning to take shape, the cook waited patiently for his captors to drop anchor.

It felt like an eternity before they finally made it to the small sand bar. When they did, the Iron Fists left Sanji tied to the mast as they unloaded supplies, content to let their captive bake in the stifling heat on the deck. He briefly considered trying to escape when he felt his bonds loosen, but dismissed it. Standish was standing over him watching carefully the entire time, so all he could do was glare defiantly at the captain as his arms were forced behind his back and roughly bound from wrist to elbow. The blonde growled as the pirates tightened the ropes, the action stretching his shoulders at an uncomfortable angle and pulling at his bandages. Standish simply raised an eyebrow and smirked at his glowering captive.

A rough shove to the back propelled the cook forward, though he slowed his pace just enough to be difficult. His feet (by some small miracle once again clad in his shoes) dragged along the deck with every step so his captors had to struggle in the heat to get him to the railing. When they finally reached it, Sanji ventured a glimpse over the edge. There was a rope ladder hanging down the side of the ship, the bottom of it brushing the edge of a smaller boat that already contained a significant number of the Iron Fist crew. But when he saw the staggering distance to the water below, the cook's mouth twitched in a defiant smirk and his arms flexed slightly in their bonds.

"You morons really thought this through," he said sarcastically, his eyes never leaving the seemingly impossible path down the side of the ship. "What, did you dumbasses expect me to _jump_ dow—Gah!"

The pirates still on deck laughed at Sanji's surprised yelp as their captain easily scooped him up and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. A small "oof" escaped his lungs when his bruised chest (he _did_ have some broken ribs, after all) made contact with the well muscled shoulder. It took all of the cook's self control not to kick the man in the face when he heard Standish laughing at him, his massive hand tightening rather uncomfortably around his buttocks. No use provoking a beating when he hoped to escape. Instead, Sanji swallowed his embarrassment and anger, and let himself be carried down the ladder to the waiting boat below. When he reached the bottom, Standish unceremoniously deposited his seething bundle in the floor of the vessel before climbing in.

Sanji landed hard on his hip, grunting from the impact and drawing snickers from several of the other passengers. Chiefly among them was Saul, whose feet rested beside the cook's head. He sneered at the captive and gave his bruised and still bleeding cheek a not-so-gentle shove with the toe of his boot.

"Don't forget, I get my turn with you next, Black Leg," the first mate said, leaning in so only Sanji could hear him.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" quipped the blonde with a sneer of his own. "You don't quite meet my standards."

Saul growled and made to grab his captive's hair, ready to teach him a lesson (damn, the bastard was easy to bait), only to find himself stopped by a long slender hand. The first mate balked and jerked his wrist out of Kuroda's gentle grasp; skin to skin contact with the Devil Fruit user was not something to take lightly.

"Now, now, Mechanic-san," scolded the doctor in his melodic voice, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He moved slightly away from his crew mate, bringing the hand that he had just used to stop him up to once again grip the handle of the umbrella that was shading his sickly skin from the intense sunlight. "Please don't go undoing all of my hard work before we even reach the shore."

The bald pirate grumbled in response and sat back as his subordinates began to row the boat to shore. Standish merely watched the entire exchange with a small smile on his face. Sanji would be in for one hell of a time when Saul got his hands on him. The captain had never seen anyone, especially one of their victims, which had been so good at getting under his first mate's skin.

When they reached the shoreline and had beached the boat, Saul was one of the first to jump out. As soon as his feet hit solid ground, he spun and reached into the bottom of the vessel and pulled the smartass blonde out by his hair, throwing him onto the black sand. The cook hissed and involuntarily curled himself into a protective fetal position when he felt the sun-baked, blackened quartz burn the exposed skin on his chest and shoulder; the sound drawing a victorious smirk from the Iron Fists' first mate. Not seeming to care about their captive's obvious discomfort, the rest of the crew groaned and complained as they unloaded supplies in the rippling heat. Some of them shouldered packs filled with plunder, but most of their haul, including crates of food and barrels of fresh water, were loaded into a cart whose wheels sank deeper and deeper into the sand with each added pound.

Sanji was just beginning to wonder if his captors intended to let him cook to death on the beach when he felt a hand roughly hook under his arm and pull him to his feet. He only staggered a little as he found his footing in the shifting black quartz, and made careful note of the beach's location on the island—the west side—before letting himself be led toward the thick jungle. The path to the center of the island was nearly invisible for all of the foliage, only able to be seen just as one reached its mouth. The chef could hear the pirates cursing behind him as they struggled to coax the cart through the thick underbrush that blocked the trail's entrance. However, once they had gotten several feet in, the narrow footpath widened to the size of a small street, and Sanji could see it winding through the dense jungle, angling slightly uphill as it disappeared into the stifling twilight created by the overgrown canopy above.

The group trudged on for what felt like hours, given the intense heat, though in reality, the whole land mass could have been crossed in half a day. The island was eerily silent, and even the rowdy crew made their way relatively quietly, only having the energy for the occasional excited murmur. The entire time, Sanji bided his time, looking for the perfect opportunity to escape. Panting slightly from a combination of his still-healing injuries and exertion, he kept a careful eye on Standish, Saul, and Kuroda who walked at a steady pace in front of him. Directly behind him, he could hear Forehead Scar and Chin Scar—who were pulling the food-laden cart—beginning to argue over who was putting more effort into the task. The brothers became more and more distracted as the disagreement grew more heated, each one insisting that he was working harder. And Sanji saw his opportunity.

Abruptly stopping in the middle of the path, the cook planted his left foot and spun on it, knocking the bickering pirates out cold with a sweeping blow from his right leg. Not wasting a single moment, he ran the extra few steps to the cart and gave it a good hard kick. Heavy with cargo, gravity easily gripped the simple vehicle, its weight taking out most of the Iron Fist crew as it barreled downhill towards the ocean. But Sanji didn't stop to watch its progress. Before his captors could stop him, he sprinted into the jungle, quickly disappearing into the underbrush.

* * *

And thusly, Chapter 8 ends.

A huge virtual glomp (or some variant of flying tackle hug) goes out to yaonne-san, who has reviewed EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER. Thank you so much for your support. I also appreciate everyone else's reviews as well, of course. Your kind words of encouragement really mean a lot to me. Every email notification brightens my day. But damn. Every. Single. Chapter. Danke sehr! :)

Also, to Naliams, the only other person to venture a guess at Kuroda's Devil Fruit power: _**VERY** _close. So close, in fact, that you can almost feel the tingle of aphrodisiac. But still, not quite.

XsummergreyX, hikarinozephyr, crossqurenai, Pocky0523, and IAmTheTaintedAngel also get my deepest thanks for their lovely reviews and a pat on the head.

Please review! Comments, critiques, speculation, Sanji-torture requests, and guesses at Kuroda's Devil Fruit power are all welcome! Flames are decidedly less welcome, but I could always go for some good barbeque. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Warning:** This chapter contains graphic, violent descriptions. A reminder, this story is rated M.

My author's notes are like mullets. Business in the front, party in the back.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

Nightmares were a rarity for Roronoa Zoro. He had few regrets to haunt him, and his memories of Kuina hadn't disturbed his subconsciousness much since he had joined Luffy in the East Blue. As a matter of fact, the greater majority of the hours that he spent napping in his various spots around the ship passed in a dreamless slumber; a zen like state that allowed him to hone his concentration and conserve energy, turning them into that seemingly boundless strength that he used to protect his crewmates. But what little sleep he had gotten since learning that Saul the Mechanic was a part of the Iron Fist crew had been fitful at best. Memories of his encounter with the man, or rather, the aftermath of his work, plagued the swordsman's now exhausted mind.

It had been early in his pirate hunting days when Zoro ran across that island in the East Blue. He had just turned in a small bounty. Capturing the pirate had been easy, so easy that the swordsman couldn't even remember his face or his name, and the bounty had been miniscule at best. But the money was just the amount that he needed to buy passage to the next island with enough left over for a warm meal and a bottle of sake. The green-haired teen was sitting at the bar of a small tavern that dominated the landscape of the little seaside village, finishing off the last of his supper, when a man came charging in, taking everyone in the room by surprise.

"They found her! They found Angie!" he yelled over and over between gasping breaths. Zoro turned in his chair to face the man along with everyone else in the establishment. There were tears streaming down his face which mixed with the sweat that was dripping from his brow. Clearly, he had run all over town with the news.

The swordsman immediately knew the "her" that the frantic man spoke of. He had seen the missing posters plastered all over the island. From what he could tell from her picture, she had been a pretty girl, not much older than he was. She had auburn hair and bright green eyes, but her most noticeable attribute was the friendly smile that greeted him from the page. The dates on the poster indicated that she had been missing for at least two months and the concern that the locals felt for her was palpable. The townspeople had even scraped together a decent sized sum of money to reward anyone with information that led to finding her. Looking at the sobbing man in the center of the tavern, Zoro couldn't help but to feel something clutch at his gut and twist it, though the stoic expression on his face never changed.

"Where? Where did they find her?" asked the tavern's owner/barkeep, who had rushed to the man's side. "Is she okay?"

The crying man shook his head violently. His words came out a ragged stutter as he delivered the terrible news. "H-Her body wash….washed up in the…r-river jus-just outside of t-town."

Zoro felt himself tense involuntarily at the revelation. Everyone else in the tavern gasped and some began to cry bitter tears of their own. In his peripheral vision, the swordsman saw another man who somehow managed to mask his emotions. Seated just a few stools to his left, the man was fairly unremarkable, except for his clean shaven—slightly shiny—head. Zoro watched him from the corner of his eye. From the way he had been talking with the bartender, it was clear that the bald man was a local, and quite respected at that. _Saul._ That's what the bartender had called him. The green-haired youth was a little surprised that this Saul guy could be watching the scene before him so cooly, given that everyone else in the room seemed to be in some level of hysterics.

"Can they tell how she died?" Saul asked, never leaving his seat.

The man, now crying too hard to speak, simply shook his head. He took several gasping breaths, trying to calm himself, before looking up to meet Saul's calm gaze. "They took her to Doctor (Zoro couldn't remember his name)'s house so he could perform an autopsy."

Saul nodded and got up to leave, pausing briefly to pat the sobbing man reassuringly on the shoulder before leaving. "We'll get to the bottom of this," he said, his expression never changing.

Zoro watched him leave. His instincts screamed that there was something off about the bald man, but this wasn't his town and it was none of his business. He was just passing through, no need to get involved. Turning back to the remnants of his meal, the swordsman gulped down his remaining sake and put his last few berries on the bar. Then in one smooth motion he grabbed Wado and his other two swords and turned to leave only to find the tavern's inhabitants watching him carefully. He returned their curious looks with his best no-nonsense one.

"What?" he asked, perhaps more defensively than he had intended.

"You're Roronoa Zoro, aren't you?" the barkeep half asked, half stated, his eyes wide with wonder. "The new bounty hunter that everyone's been talking about."

"And?"

The man's eyes darted from the three swords on Zoro's hip to the muscular arms now crossed over his chest to his face. He nervously licked his lips. "You have to find who did this…." The green-haired swordsman must have made a face, because the barkeeper finished his sentence as quickly as possible. "…don't worry, we'll pay you the amount that we offered for her rescue. It's not the highest bounty in the world, but it's as much as we can offer. Oh, and I'll give you free room and board here."

The rest of the tavern's patrons nodded in support.

Had Zoro been anyone other than Zoro, his eyebrows would have shot up. He was a little surprised that a man with no obvious relation (he would later find out that the barkeeper was her uncle) would offer so much reward for one girl. As much as his instincts told him to move on and to not get involved, the swordsman felt sorry for these people (not to mention that he could really use the money).

"Okay," he conceded, never dropping his poker face. "Which way to this doctor's house?"

"Thank you. Thank you so much!" The barkeeper smiled through his tears and walked up to vigorously shake Zoro's hand. "This means so much to us, all of us. And don't worry about paying for tonight's meal."

"Keep the money," the swordsman replied in a serious tone, "I ate that before I was under your employ. Now, if you could tell me how to get to the doctor's house."

"Are you sure? Because I really want to-"

"The directions, please."

"I mean, it really wouldn't be a problem."

"Doctor. Directions. Now." Zoro scowled at the man for emphasis.

"O-Oh, right." The barkeeper took a cautious step back. Roronoa Zoro was scary. "Take a left when you leave here. Doctor (again, Zoro couldn't remember his name) lives in the last house on the right."

Satisfied that he had the necessary information, the swordsman stomped through the tavern and exited, promptly turning right to head up the street. He had made it a few blocks before he heard someone running after him calling his name. Zoro stopped and turned to find the sobbing man that had initially brought the bad news to the townspeople. He seemed to have gotten over his hysterics, though the tracks from his tears still shined on his cheeks in the fading evening sun.

"Wait, Zoro-senpai!" he said, skidding to a halt and putting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "The doctor's house is in the other direction. I'll take you."

Zoro nodded stoically—there was no way he had been lost—and followed the man. After several minutes of tense silence, he finally decided to try for some small talk/fact-finding.

"So, the people in this town seem pretty close," he stated, causing the other man's head to whip around in surprise.

"Yeah," the man offered a nervous smile, "this is the smallest village on the island, so everyone knows everyone like they were family. It was a huge deal when Angie went missing. Something like that has never happened here before. We were all out of our minds with worry." He sniffed, new tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Everyone is so devastated. I feel especially bad for Saul. She worked for him. They were really close. He was fronting the majority of the money for her rescue reward. We're such a small town that the Marines couldn't be bothered to help." The bitter tone of the last sentence hung heavy in the air.

The swordsman frowned. _Saul…the bald guy from the tavern._ "What's this Saul guy do?"

"Oh! He's the town's mechanic," explained the man, perking up slightly as he described a man that he clearly respected. "He can fix anything. Half the stuff in this town would probably be broken if it weren't for him. He even helps to keep the fishing boats in working condition." He was smiling now, his tears subsiding as he gestured wildly with his hands. "And he's super smart. Saul's come up with all of these really awesome inventions! They're mostly tools, but he's been working on finding a way to power some of our smaller fishing boats so we don't have to rely on the wind. And he—"

"Sounds great," interrupted Zoro. He was beginning to regret asking. Luckily, they had just reached the doctor's house. A small crowd had gathered around the front of it, waiting eagerly for new developments about Angie's death. Leaving the talkative man with the other townspeople ("That's Roronoa Zoro! He's gonna catch the guy that did this!"), the swordsman climbed the steps and entered the small building.

Inside, he found what appeared to be a normal home. To the left of the entry way, he could see a small kitchen. The lights were on, and a half finished meal lay uneaten on the table. There was what looked like a bedroom on the other side of the kitchen; he could see a bed and a dresser through a door that had been left ajar. To his right was a living room that doubled as a waiting room for patients. When he walked into it, Zoro saw Saul seated on one of the couches. He raised an eyebrow at the swordsman, but made no other move to acknowledge him. On the other side of the room sat a couple that appeared to be the dead girl's parents. The man was rubbing his wife's back, tears silently rolling down his face as she sobbed loudly into his chest. Not wanting to disturb the grieving couple, he took a seat on the same couch as Saul, scooting to the other end in order to put as much distance as possible between himself and the odd man. Much to his relief, he didn't have long to wait before the doctor made an appearance.

The man looked utterly exhausted and saddened as he entered the small space from a door in the back of the room. Not wanting to further traumatize the dead girl's parents, he had removed any trace of the blood spatter that resulted from autopsy from his person. The doctor briefly nodded to each person in the room—oddly, not surprised by Zoro's presence—before giving them his findings.

"Angie was definitely murdered," he said solemnly. His words drew a whole new round of sobs from the girl's mother. "How, though, I can't say…"

Zoro waited patiently, subtly watching Saul from the corner of his eye, as the doctor offered the couple his condolences and did his best to comfort them before sending them home with a promise to have their daughter's body prepared for burial within a few days. Once they had left, he turned his attention to the swordsman on his couch.

"I got a call saying that you were going to catch the person that did this, is that right?" he asked, his tone grave.

Zoro nodded.

"Then you had best come with me." The doctor turned to leave the room, indicating for the swordsman to follow. He stopped at the door and looked back at the other man seated on the couch. "Saul, you should see this as well."

The two followed the doctor into a decently sized back room that clearly served as an examination room. The girl's body was laid out on the table and was covered with a sheet. Her feet stuck out the end, and Zoro could distinctly make out a myriad of cuts, bruises, and what appeared to be burns. He frowned. This poor girl had suffered.

"As you know, Angie went missing two months ago," began the doctor bitterly. He took a shuddering breath, clearly upset by his findings. "From the state of her body, I would say that she's only been dead for a day or so. And whoever did this _tortured_ her."

He pulled back to sheet to reveal the battered body. Zoro had to struggle to remain composed. Torture wasn't enough to describe the ordeal that this poor girl had been through. The corpse before him could barely be recognized as human. One of her arms appeared to have been dissected, as well as her breasts and her stomach. The sick bastard had also removed every single finger nail and toe nail from her body; the bloodied and bruised stumps that remained were painful just to look at. There were ligature marks as well. They encircled her wrists and ankles where she had been bound, and there were several sets around her neck from being repeatedly choked. As he took in the gruesome sight, Zoro could hear the doctor listing off more of the terrible things she had endured before her violent death: rape, sodomy, electrocution, burning, repeated resuscitation. In the end, death had been more of an act of mercy than anything.

Through it all, the swordsman noticed that Saul's face remained neutral. He couldn't help but to wonder what the man was thinking. Just watching him examine his dead friend's body so cooly, no, emotionlessly, made Zoro's skin crawl. Finally, the doctor finished his report and pulled the sheet back over the body.

All three men were quiet as they walked back to the front door of the house. When they exited the building, they found that most of the crowd had dispersed, though a few remained to speak with Saul. The doctor caught Zoro by the arm before he could walk away.

"Please catch this bastard," he pleaded. His voice was grim, but his eyes shined with suppressed tears. "I don't care if you kill him; just make sure he can't do this to anyone ever again."

* * *

It took Zoro several days before he had any semblance of a solid lead. He had gone to the neighboring village, which was significantly larger—it even had a small Marine base—to gather information. There he had found that Angie wasn't the only girl in that age range to go missing from the island. Six others had mysteriously disappeared in the last two years, and another one had been snatched shortly after Angie. No other bodies had been recovered, however, and the local authorities had written all of the girls off as runaways. After all, who would want to stay on such a boring little island for their entire lives? Young people up and left without warning all of the time. "Such is the nature of this generation," one of the Marine commanders had remarked a little bitterly.

The swordsman had returned to the small village annoyed and a little disheartened. Now he was trudging all over town, stopping at homes and businesses to ask about Angie, her friends, family, hobbies, and etcetera. Zoro huffed irritably as he left a bakery after interviewing a particularly talkative family friend. This job was turning out to be harder than he had expected. This was why the green-haired teen preferred pirate hunting. Pirates were easy. Go to a town, follow the chaos. Then it was simply a matter of: confront, challenge, slice, receive bounty. This murderer was obviously much wilier than the average pirate.

Not really paying attention to where he was going, he eventually found himself standing in front of a small shop on the edge of town. The building was long; only one story tall, it appeared that the business was in the front and the living quarters in the back. It was well-maintained, with a large display window that featured several unusual looking tools whose uses varied from fishing to farming to household appliances. Above the door hung a wooden sign with neatly painted letters that simply read "Mechanic".

_This must be where she worked_, he thought.

A small bell rang as the swordsman opened the door. There were more tools and machinery that he didn't recognize scattered on shelves and in bins around the shop. Saul stood at a counter at the back, his shoulders hunched and his neck bent as he concentrated on some new device. He looked up when the bell rang, his mouth involuntarily turning down at the corners before he masked his surprise with a friendly smile.

"I was wondering when I would see you in here," said the bald man as a greeting.

Zoro studied the other man carefully before answering. "Well, it's not exactly an easy place to find."

"It's on the main road," Saul responded, not quite able to keep the mocking tone from his voice.

The swordsman waved a dismissive hand at the mechanic's snide remark and chose to ignore the smirk that flashed across his face. Casually resting his arm on the swords at his hip, he wandered around the shop, trying to appear interested in the odds and ends that littered the shelves.

"Was there something you wanted?" the mechanic eventually asked, having grown irritated with the long awkward silence.

"Yeah, actually—" Zoro grimaced. He had to pee. _Dammit, I shouldn't have had so much sake with that baker._ "First, do you have a bathroom I could use?"

Saul dropped his cool composed mask, his mouth falling open slightly in surprise at the random question. But his bemusement only lasted a moment. "Yes, down the hall, first door on the right."

Zoro nodded in thanks, a little too embarrassed to give a vocal response. Once in the hallway, he quickly found the first door to the left and opened it, only to be confronted by a long staircase that appeared to lead to a cellar.

"Who the hell would put a bathroom in the basement?" he muttered to himself, closing the door behind him.

As he descended the carved stone steps, the swordsman began to feel uneasy. Perhaps he had taken a wrong turn. Damn confusing building. Zoro frowned. _Too late to turn back now. _The farther down he went, the more rancid the air became, until finally it was downright oppressive. A foul metallic smell hung in the air, and Zoro began to wonder just what the mechanic used the basement for. When he finally reached the bottom of the steps, he found himself in a darkened windowless room. He could barely make out some oddly shaped furniture in the dim light that streamed in from the crack under the door at the top of the stairs, but he had to squint to make out the shadowy forms. After a short time searching, his fingers found an oil lamp and some matches on a low shelf. He fumbled with the matches in the dark, cursing when he dropped several of them, before finally succeeding in lighting the wick. When he was satisfied with the size of the flame, the swordsman looked up to see if he could find the toilet, only to nearly drop the lamp in shock.

It was all Zoro could do to not vomit on the floor right then and there. He had stumbled upon what appeared to be a small dungeon. The walls of the dank room were lined with shelves on which a countless number of bloodstained tools had been organized. There were some he could recognize—thumb screws, pliers, brands—and others whose uses he didn't even want to imagine. In the corner stood a large cabinet with glass doors through which he could see preserved body parts neatly arranged with tags. But the thing that drew the swordsman's immediate and undivided attention was the table in the center of the room. It was a large metal table with hinges that allowed a third on either side to be folded down. Complex cogs and gears underneath the expansive tabletop indicated that it could be tipped up vertically, though at the moment it was positioned parallel to the stone floor. And lying on top, held down by a series of leather straps, was the girl who had been reported missing shortly after Angie. Or, at least, her body.

The poor girl had obviously been dead for at least a day, based on the smell. Her eyes stared at the darkened ceiling, wide and glassy, and her mouth gaped open in a silent scream. She had suffered many of the same tortures as Angie had. Zoro could see the burns and the mutilation of her fingers and toes. But whereas the cause of Angie's death had been suffocation (the town's doctor had established as much after further examination), this girl had clearly died a more violent death. Her body was split open down the middle, the deep jagged cut extending from her neck down to her groin. Blood had run from the gaping wound, small streams of it were dried to the table and dripped over the sides like some sort of morbid river, the run-off caught by a drain in the floor. Zoro shuddered and wretched, clamping a shaking hand over his mouth in an attempt to hold back the vomit in his throat. His swords clacked noisily as he leaned against the wall to steady himself.

"What a shame," came Saul's voice from the base of the stairs, "I had so hoped not to be found out."

Zoro swallowed the bile that had worked its way into his mouth and drew Wado from its sheath, taking a threatening step towards the mechanic. His voice was a cold as the steel of his blade when he spoke, all hints of the tremors that had earlier shaken his body banished by the thoughts of the impending fight. "You understand that I have to take you down."

"What? No request for me to come quietly?" the murderer asked, a cruel grin splitting his face.

The swordsman didn't deign to respond. Instead he launched himself at his adversary, his white katana flashing violently in the lamplight. Saul dodged him expertly, pulling what appeared to be an oversized meathook from one of the shelves as he passed it. Holding the hook by a polished wooden handle, he brandished it at the green-haired bounty hunter, the manic smile never leaving his face.

"You should have heard her scream," he goaded and dodged another one of Zoro's lunges. The swordsman glared at him. Saul's grin widened. "Of course, I eventually had to cut out her tongue. One's ears can only take so much."

Zoro roared and truly went on the offensive. He had hunted many despicable men since beginning his journey, but none had earned his hatred like this one. The torture, mutilation, and complete disregard for life struck a chord within the swordsman that made him see red. He wanted nothing more than to split Saul open in the same way as the poor girl on the table. In a blur of motion, he clamped Wado between his teeth and unsheathed his other two katana.

The mechanic's grin faltered as he registered the Three Sword Style attack a moment too late, earning a series of deep slashes across his forearms and chest. He staggered backwards, his free hand clutching at the now bloodstained fabric of his shirt, and barely managed to avoid the next strike. Panic was starting to replace his cool façade, and he madly swung the hook at his opponent, who easily knocked it aside. Saul's eyes widened in terror. He backpeddled away from Zoro, only to find himself trapped in the back corner of the basement with his shoulders pressed against the wood of his display cabinet.

Nearly certain of his kill, and too enraged by the sight of the dead girl to think clearly, the swordsman advanced on him. The mechanic's mouth gaped like a fish out of water as Zoro charged him at full speed. The three katana were moments away from connecting with their victim when Saul's expression shifted from a look of terror back of the evil grin.

"Goodbye, Roronoa," he sneered, and quickly sidestepped the attack.

Moving too quickly to stop himself, Zoro careened into the heavy case, causing the glass to shatter upon impact. Instinctively raising his arms to protect himself, he wasn't quite fast enough to avoid receiving several cuts from the glass shards that rained down.

"How was it, Roronoa?" laughed Saul from beside him. He gave the cabinet a rough yank, pulling it down on top of the swordsman. "Did you like my 'oh no' face?"

Zoro only managed an angry grunt in response, most of his concentration going into shielding himself from the heavy piece of furniture as it fell on top of him, trapping him on the cold stone floor along with the morbid artifacts that had been on display. He growled, angry at himself for falling for Saul's trick, and thrust his two katana upwards. The sharp steel easily sliced through the cabinet, the splintering wood flying in all directions as he leapt to his feet. But the mechanic was already gone; he heard the door slam and the lock click, shutting him in the nightmarish basement.

Not to be so easily outmatched, the swordsman charged up the stairs and cut down the door. By the time he made it out of the shop, Saul had already disappeared and a crowd was beginning to gather, attracted by the unusual scene. Huffing more from irritation than exertion, Zoro sheathed his swords.

Hours later, he refused any payment from the townspeople. Yes, he had discovered the murderer, but had failed to catch him. Saul the Mechanic, as his wanted posters would call him, was the first and last bounty ever to escape from the green-haired swordsman. Zoro kept a wary eye out for him over the years. He had promised the barkeeper, the doctor, and Angie's parents that he would send word if (no, when) he tracked down the murderer. He would never mention the incident to anyone, but secretly watched as Saul's bounty rose from 15 million berries to 32 million to 48 million, and finally settling at 70 million berries.

And now one of his crewmates was in the man's clutches. He had never had to worry about that damned Ero-Cook before. Even when he ran off on his own to do some sort of reckless dangerous secret mission—tricking Crocodile under the guise of Mr. Prince in Alabasta, secretly boarding a train full of CP9 agents at Water 7—Zoro had always known that the cook could handle himself. He would make it back with that stupid smirk plastered across his face, baiting the swordsman until he couldn't take it anymore and a fight broke out. But now when he closed his eyes, all he could see was Curlybrow, Sanji, his rival and begrudging friend, strapped to the metal table in that basement, carved open like some sort animal brought to slaughter. The Straw Hats' first mate balked at the scene every time, his shaking knees giving way as he collapsed to the floor. Guilt rolled over him as he looked upon his dead crewmate. He had failed to stop Saul, and it had resulted in the death of his nakama. The others were going to be devastated when they saw…

Somewhere in the distance he could hear a voice calling his name. He concentrated on it, trying to identify its owner. As the disembodied voice drew nearer, he could hear the high pitched whine of fear that masked the naivety and unquestioning trust of its owner. _Shit, Chopper_. Zoro looked upon the mangled body of his dead crewmate in horror as his mind scrambled for a way to shield the reindeer from the terrifying scene. _I can't let Chopper see this!_

* * *

Zoro jerked awake with a startled snort, his hands immediately reaching for the katana that rested beside him. He snarled fiercely as he sat up, half drawing Yubashiri from its sheath. Then his eyes settled on Chopper. The terrified reindeer was backwards hiding behind Usopp, whose legs were shaking violently. It was then that the first mate realized that he was still aboard the Thousand Sunny, seated on the grassy deck with his back against the railing.

"You were yelling in your sleep, so I tried to wake you," explained Chopper, his eyes blurry with tears.

The swordsman scowled as he blinked the last remnants of the nightmare away and then swore. "Sorry, Chopper. Didn't mean to scare you."

"What the hell was that all about?" demanded Usopp, having finally found his voice. By now the rest of the Straw Hats had heard the commotion, and had stopped whatever they had been doing to see what all the noise was about.

"S'nothing," grumbled Zoro, rubbing one of his eyes with the back of his fist. He could see the concern written on his crewmates' faces. They had never seen him have a nightmare before, and now this one had become a daily occurrence.

"It's not nothing," remarked Nami, her voice bitter. "You've been like this ever since we picked up those marines and it keeps getting worse. There's something you're not telling us, and I want to know what it is!"

"It's. Nothing." The swordsman put emphasis on every syllable. He saw the navigator shrink away from him and realized he must have been glaring at her. He let go an irritated sigh. "M'sorry. Don't know what got into me."

"It's stress," observed Chopper, finally venturing out from behind Usopp's legs. Zoro felt a twinge of regret. Since when had the reindeer had to hide from him? Nami was right, there was something off. But he didn't want to tell the crew about his history with Saul. Things were bad enough already, the last thing the others needed was to have their heads filled with visions of the cook bloodied, battered, and dissected on a table in some dank basement. There was no reason that his crewmates should feel the same hopelessness that was clawing at his chest.

"We've all been stressed, ever since…"

Zoro hadn't realized that the doctor had still been talking. New tears formed in the little reindeer's eyes as he trailed off in the middle of his sentence. The cook's abduction had hit the entire crew hard, but Nami and Chopper seemed to be the most affected. After the attack, they hadn't gotten much by way of details out of the navigator, though with his medical expertise, the Drum Island doctor had been able to deduce the severity of the Ero-Cook's wounds from the amount of blood staining the floor. Since then, both had begun to look more and more worn. Deep shadows hung beneath Nami's eyes, which were still red—a clear indication that she was crying herself to sleep at night. And Chopper's normally soft shiny fur looked dull and almost matted. The reindeer was running himself ragged trying to simultaneously care for the injured navigator, prepare the infirmary for the cook's rescue, and keep the stressed out crew healthy. And, of all things, the last task seemed to be the most daunting.

Dartboard Brow had always threatened that the lives of a ship's crew were in the cook's hands. Zoro had always written those remarks off as the cook's feeble attempt at being self-important and exploited them to bait his rival into a fight. But now that they had been without the chef for a week, the swordsman was starting to feel the effects and could see the consequences wearing on the rest of the Straw Hats. There were those among them that knew how to cook and could make their way around the kitchen. Robin, Usopp, and Franky had all taken turns preparing meals. But none of them had the same handle on which foods could provide the exact nutrients that their crewmates needed—or, for that matter, paid close enough attention to know what anyone might be lacking in their diet. None of them had any idea of how to properly ration either, or how to stretch each ingredient to its maximum potential, and so their food stores were dwindling that much more quickly. Even with Chopper insisting that they take little homemade vitamin tablets twice a day, the Straw Hats were wearing thin. Tempers were shorter, reactions were slower, and time spent in solitary thought was longer. Luffy had even grown significantly quieter, and Zoro couldn't tell if it was from rage at what was happening to his friend or from the break in his normally steady supply of meat.

But the Straw Hats' not-quite waning physical health was only half of the problem. This was the longest that the close knit pirate crew had ever gone in such a tense situation. Every other battle that they had ever faced had come in short spurts that were so full of action that none of them really had time to stop and think for long or to let panic and despair grip them (except for Usopp, but he had a certain knack for negativity). Having gleaned all of the information that they could from the two captured marines, the pirates had left them in a mid-sized coastal town a few days ago, and had had no new leads since then. In the days that had followed, all the crew could do was try to make themselves busy, and do their utmost not to speculate as to what kind of torture their friend was enduring at the hands of the Iron Fist Pirates.

"It's because of that Saul guy, isn't it?" observed Nami, snapping the swordsman out of his reverie.

Zoro glowered up at the red head. His nerves were still frayed from his most recent nightmare and he lacked the patience to deal with her interrogation. He tensed, about to bark a reply when Luffy jumped to his defense.

"If Zoro says 'it's nothing', then it's nothing," reaffirmed the Straw Hat captain. He leveled a serious look at his first mate, a frown that had become all too familiar in the last several days creasing his face. The unspoken message in Luffy's eyes was clear. He trusted that Zoro had the situation handled. If something needed to be said, he was certain that the first mate would say it.

The captain's words settled the argument once and for all, and the rest of the crew reluctantly returned to their various tasks. Zoro distinctly saw Chopper cast a worried glance over his shoulder before trotting back to the infirmary to take inventory on his medical supplies for the hundredth time. The swordsman leaned Yubashiri (which he hadn't realized he was still holding with an iron grip throughout the entire exchange) against the railing of the ship before settling down for what he hoped to be a more restful nap.

They would find the cook, of that Zoro was certain. He just hoped that they would be retrieving more than just a body when they did.

* * *

Here I left you guys for days with a cliffhanger, and then update with a chapter that gives no hints as to Sanji's condition. Part of me feels bad, but my inner sadist is laughing maniacally.

Also, Zoro's POV...hard to write. Probably because he isn't exactly my favorite character.

It recently occurred to me that this story, at its heart, is smut. Oh well. I can write something profound later.

Many, many thanks to all of the lovelies that reviewed. I also want to thank those who read but may not necessarily review. I hope that you enjoy reading this twisted little story of mine as much as I've enjoyed writing it!


	10. Chapter 10

So sorry to leave all of you hanging for so long after that cliffy. Please enjoy.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

As escape plans went, this one wasn't the most brilliant ever conceived. Sharp thorns, knotted vines, and tangled branches tore at Sanji's pants and bandages and ripped at his exposed skin as he ran desperately through the thick jungle. He had no back up, no fail safe built in, and only a vague idea of what he would do next. His arms were still tightly bound from wrist to elbow behind his back, and the cook was fairly certain that if he tripped, the impact would dislocate at least one of his painfully bent shoulders. He would have to find a way to escape the bonds, particularly if he wanted to have any hope of stealing one of the small ships anchored at the sandbar. But, for the time being, all the cook could do was resolutely push forward through the heat and the haze and the tangled plant life, relying more on instinct than anything. _Marimo would be proud_, Sanji thought to himself with a grim smile.

_Moss Head…and the others_.

Sanji's stride faltered for a moment and he just barely caught himself before he could trip over a particularly gnarled tree root. If this worked, he would be free and the last week would be nothing more than some horrendous nightmare and a myriad of new scars. He could already picture his crewmates' reactions. Luffy would be ecstatic and immediately want to throw a party (shit, he was probably starving without his steady supply of meat right now) before going to beat the crap out of Standish and his men, which Sanji would gladly oblige. But Chopper wouldn't let him. The little reindeer would switch tearfully from worried friend mode to doctor mode and order the injured cook to several days of bed rest. Nami and Robin, being the more responsible members of the crew, would probably help to care for him, and the lovesick chef felt his heart flutter a little at the thought.

_No. Must. Concentrate._ He frowned and shook his head clear of his wishful thinking. It was pointless to get ahead of himself. Escape first. Nurse Nami and Nurse Robin fantasies later. Nurses Nami and Robin…hand feeding him soup. They might even wear cute little uniforms—

Caught up in his lustful daydream, Sanji only narrowly avoided the downswing of a cutlass, skidding to a halt and ducking into a crouch just before it could decapitate him. He felt the woosh and heard the whistle of displaced air as the blade wizzed over his head. Immediately snapped back into reality and the gravity of his situation, the cook sprang into action.

Coiling himself like a spring and then releasing tightly wound leg muscles in a burst of speed and power, he launched himself upward at his attacker, bringing the heel of his right foot down on top of a mop of filthy blonde hair. Dust Bin (Billy?) grunted at the impact and stumbled backwards. Not missing a beat, Sanji planted his left foot as he landed and spun on it, doing his best not to picture Bon Clay's ballet-inspired moves as he delivered one vicious kick after another to the pirate. It didn't take much before the other man fell, his sword impaling itself in the mossy ground a few feet from its unconscious owner's body.

Sanji gave the prone pirate one last kick to the head just to be sure before turning to run. He had made it just a couple steps when he spotted the discarded cutlass, its blade shining dully in the foliage-induced twilight as it stuck out of the dirt at a mostly vertical angle. His arms twitched uncomfortably in their bonds, reminding him that, yes, they were still back there and that they came in handy now and again.

Silently praying that no one else had caught up to him as quickly as Billy, the cook plopped himself down in front of the blade, wincing as the jarring effect of the action vibrated up his sore backside and spine. He swore under his breath and began working at the bonds. Much to his dismay, the sword was poorly kept and it took a considerable amount of sawing to cut through the thick rope. After several minutes of work, Sanji could finally feel the cord around his elbows loosening. Unfortunately, whoever had bound him apparently had a certain fondness for knots, and he found that nearly every layer contained one, requiring him to continue sawing his way down, even after he had freed his elbows and forearms. He hissed as the dull edge painfully dragged across bruised raw skin, drawing fresh blood. He needed to hold out just a little longer; only his wrists were left.

A rustle in the branches and underbrush to his left broke Sanji's concentration. His head whipped around and he momentarily stopped his frantic sawing as he listened intently, hoping against hope that the noise had just been his imagination. But, again, luck was against the cook. Soon he could hear the angry voices of more Iron Fist Pirates as they crashed through the thick jungle in search of their fleeing captive.

"Shit," he grumbled, scrambling hurriedly to his feet. Quickly taking note of the direction the shouts and calls were coming from, he turned and ran once again.

His mind raced as he sprinted through the underbrush, ducking low branches and hurdling over fallen logs with a little more ease than before. At the very least, he had freed his arms down to the wrists, restoring some of his balance and taking a significant amount of strain off of his shoulders. If he could just get another moment to stop, the chef was certain that he was flexible enough that he could wrestle his arms around his legs so they would be bound in front of him instead of behind. Sanji cast a wary eye around him as he ran, looking desperately for some particularly dense piece of foliage where he could hide himself. He frowned as he searched. The underbrush was beginning to thin and the soil was becoming looser, shifting under foot as the moist peat of the jungle mixed with black quartz sand. He was approaching the beach, and fast. Sanji could still hear the pirates chasing after him, but their voices were fading as his pace outmatched theirs.

And then he spotted it. A bush, maybe twenty feet ahead. The leaves were broad and their dispersal thick. It would provide the perfect cover. Setting his jaw determinedly, Sanji sprinted toward the plant and easily leapt over it, landing almost gracefully on his right foot, followed closely by the left.

The sound of the trap snapping surprised the cook, but not as much as the feeling of the steel jaws closing around his right ankle. Bolts of fresh fiery pain caused black spots to burst before his eyes as the sensation of the metal teeth burying themselves in his leg, sinking through muscle and tendons alike, jolted up his body. He barely managed to suppress a strangled yelp as he came crashing down onto the ground, tearing at his newest injury as he landed hard on his shoulder.

Sanji lay on the soft earth for several minutes, panting and sweating in the heat and cursing a blue streak. It was starting to feel like someone (other than the Iron Fists) was out to get him. The universe, maybe.

"Fucking shit," he hissed, beating his forehead against the ground as he tried to think around the blinding pain originating in his ankle. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit." A sob hitched in his throat. "_Fuck._ Shit."

His breathing was decidedly more ragged when he finally tried to move. His body shook from exertion as he rolled onto his left hip and attempted to sit up. Sanji swore bitterly as he took in the damage.

The trap was huge. Easily a foot across, the thick steel weighed his leg down like a ball and chain. And it had been well maintained. Massive sharpened teeth dug into his flesh, held in place by tightly wound springs and a heavy automatic locking mechanism. The cook ground his teeth together. This thing wasn't going to be easy to remove, especially given that his arms were still bound at the wrists behind him. Sanji wasn't even sure if he had the necessary strength remaining to break it. Blood spilled from the fresh wound, having already soaked through the torn fabric of his pants, pooling slightly around the trap as it slowly seeped into the moist dirt. The combination of the heat, exhaustion, and bleeding were making him dizzy, and the chef could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. Sanji closed his eyes as an involuntary shudder shook through his body. It was taking everything he had to remain conscious.

"_There_ you are," purred a silky voice above him.

Sanji's eyes snapped open and immediately landed on the voice's owner. The trapped chef snarled fiercely and tried to scoot away like some sort of feral animal as Saul emerged from the shadows of the thick jungle. A first mate's lips curled into a cruel grin as he approached the incapacitated runaway. He came to a stop right next to the trap and casually placed his hands in his pockets.

"What do you think?" queried the pirate, indicating the bloodied device with a nod of his head. "It's my own design. There're hundreds of them on this island, all around the perimeter of the jungle."

"You looking for a gold star, or something?" Sanji managed between gasping breaths. He hated himself of falling back into his captors' hands so easily.

"Not at all." Saul's grin widened and he slowly raised a foot, positioning it so it hovered menacingly over Sanji's trapped ankle. The blonde's eyes grew to the size of small saucers as the pirate's evil intentions became clear. "But I would like you to have a better appreciation for the craftsmanship."

Then the Iron Fists' first mate brought his foot down. Sanji screamed as the trap's teeth ground deeper into his mangled flesh. Fresh tears sprang unbidden from his eyes as the pressure slowly increased, driving the razor sharp metal down to the bone. He fell back onto his side, curling in on himself as he writhed in pain.

"You fucking son of a bitch!" swore the cook, his voice coming out as more of a sob than a snarl, when Saul finally backed off. Sanji gulped several breaths, trying to clear the black fog of unconsciousness that was clouding the edges of his vision. "What the hell do you want from me?!"

"I want to hear you beg," sneered Saul.

"Fat chance, bastard!"

Saul scowled and slowly shifted his body weight back onto the foot that rested on the trap. Sanji resumed his frantic struggling, but somehow managed to keep from screaming by releasing a whole new string of creative curses from between clenched teeth. Not satisfied with his victim's reaction, Saul increased the pressure until the cook's ankle made a sickening crunching sound and the trap beneath his foot jolted downward half an inch.

A fresh scream broke free of Sanji's lungs as he felt the bones in his ankle break. The black spots in his vision sprang forth with renewed vigor and soon the cook couldn't see anything despite his eyes being wide open and the sun still hanging high in the sky. He blindly lashed out at his tormentor with his left leg, but his attack was feeble at best, and his weak kick met only empty air. But Saul kept doggedly on, ever increasing his weight on the trap, grinding the metal deeper and deeper into the pulverized bone.

The last thing that Sanji heard before the overwhelming pain and blood loss shut down his body was the sound of Saul's laughter ringing through the trees.

* * *

Saul continued to put his weight on the steel trap for several more minutes after his victim's body had gone limp, only stopping when the severely damaged leg made another snapping sound. If all of the bones in that ankle hadn't been broken before, they certainly were now. He heaved a disappointed sigh (he had so hoped to hear the smartass blonde beg) and backed away, walking over to inspect his reclaimed captive.

Sanji lay curled defensively on his left side, the knee of his free leg nearly touching his chest. The blonde's face was twisted in an unconscious grimace, his brow furrowed and his nose wrinkled, and his breathing was low and quick; a shallow panting that was in no way natural. What hair wasn't plastered to his face and neck with sweat fanned out on the ground around his head like a halo, the flaxen strands standing in stark contrast with the black sandy soil. His face was pale, drained of most of its blood with only enough remaining to slightly color his cheeks. Saul had no interest in men, but he could see why his captain had chosen this one.

_That was almost close_, thought the first mate when he noticed that the blonde had somehow managed to hack through all but the last layer of rope that had bound his arms. The jagged cuts from Billy's cutlass had stopped bleeding and glistened dully in what little sunlight broke through the dense canopy above. Momentarily looking up, he could see the faintest traces of blue sky and ocean through the thick foliage. The Iron Fists' captive had only been, at most, ten or fifteen feet away from the beach.

Finally deciding that it was time to return to his crew, Saul returned his attention to the trap that was still closed around Sanji's ankle. Digging into his pants pocket, the first mate extracted a small ring of keys of various shapes and sizes. Casually flipping through them, he soon found the one he needed, a small T-shaped key whose end bore the same hexagonal shape as a washer. Holding the small piece of metal with a firm grasp, he easily fit it into its corresponding hole in the trap.

Something between a pained gasp and a sigh of relief escaped his unconscious captive's lips as the locking mechanism on the trap opened, releasing its grip on his crushed ankle. With the tension in the springs gone, it took little strength to pull the steel jaws apart, allowing the Iron Fist pirate to successfully retrieve his prey. The ankle made horrible squelching and cracking sounds as he lifted it away from where it had been pressed into the sharp teeth, and Saul grinned with cruel satisfaction when he heard Sanji moan in response.

"I am so going to enjoy breaking you," he hummed as he lifted the unconscious blonde and flung him over his shoulder with only a little less ease than his captain had. He adjusted his stance slightly so that he could carry his bundle more comfortably; barely noticing as the movement caused blood to drip from Sanji's mangled right leg down the front of his clothes. (Red was his favorite color, after all.) Satisfied that he had a firm enough grip around the still body to make the trip, he set out into the jungle, keeping a wary eye out for his own traps.

Saul knew the island well, and found the hidden road and, subsequently, his crew within a hot and sweaty half hour. As he hiked up the slight incline, the first mate could see his captain yelling furiously at Forehead Scar and Chin Scar, the brothers' heads ducked as they no doubt silently prayed that a tongue lashing was the only punishment they would receive. Kuroda sat on the nearly ruined remains of the cart, which had been dragged back up the hill, his umbrella in one hand and a freshly lit cigarette in the other. An amused smile tugged at the corners of the doctor's wide mouth as he watched his livid captain tear into his shamed subordinates. The first mate approached silently, not really interested in interrupting Standish when he was red-faced with rage. He bided his time, waiting until he was only a few feet away before greeting his captain and crewmates.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked smoothly, drawing the attention of all present.

Standish whirled angrily on his first mate, only to quickly regain his composure when he saw Sanji's unconscious body slung over the other man's shoulder. His aggravated snarl curved into a toothy grin.

"Nicely done, Saul," Standish complimented, straightening his plumed hat which had gone askew during his tirade. He spotted the blood dripping from the toe of Sanji's shoe and chuckled. "I see those traps of yours came in handy."

"Yes. Yes, they did." The first mate made no attempt to hide his self satisfaction. Instead, he lifted his cargo down and unceremoniously plopped his captive's limp form at Kuroda's feet. "I don't quite see why you were so upset with the brothers"—the Scar brothers took a tentative step back from their captain as Saul said this—"there was no way the boy was going to escape this island."

The Iron Fist captain merely scowled at his first mate, so Kuroda answered for him.

"It has little to do with Sanji-kun's escape attempt," explained the doctor as he bent to examine his patient, his cigarette waggling comically between his lips as he spoke. He paused before he pulled away Sanji's tattered pant-leg to indicate the empty cart with a wave of his elongated arm. "Our supplies made it to the ocean before any of us could." He exhaled a breath of smoke into the humid air. "I suppose the fish will be eating well tonight."

Reminded of the reason for his anger, Standish turned and cupped the sides of his subordinates' heads with his massive hands. Taken completely off guard and decidedly outmatched, the bickering brothers didn't even have time to brace themselves for impact. In the blink of an eye, Standish slammed their heads together, knocking the brothers out cold for the second time that day.

Kuroda cooly ignored the commotion, too engrossed in his examination to care. He clucked his tongue as he pulled back the bloodsoaked fabric to reveal the mangled ankle. The cuts from the trap's teeth were deep and jagged. Blood continued to leak sluggishly from the wounds as the area around the injury began to swell. He gingerly lifted the battered body part from the dirt, drawing a series of clicking sounds and a pained whimper from the unconscious blonde as the broken bones ground against one another. Sanji's breathing became more ragged as the doctor continued to poke and prod his injured appendage, his brow furrowing further as the discomfort threatened to pull him back to the waking world. Deciding that it would be best to deal with an unconscious captive for the rest of the trip, Kuroda quickly sedated him with a quick swipe of his wetted thumb across the blonde's lower lip. Then he turned to address Saul.

"I hadn't realized that your traps could do so much damage." The doctor's voice was serious as he spoke, but his heavy-lidded eyes twinkled with amusement. "Surely, you wouldn't have helped this injury along."

Saul grinned. They both knew the answer to that question. "Naw, that was mostly his own doing."

A frown twitched at the doctor's lips at the morbid joke, but he quickly masked it and wrapped a makeshift bandage around Sanji's ankle to staunch the bleeding. It would be a shame for their captive to die when they were so close to having some real fun.

When he was done, a couple of crew members approached and lifted Sanji into the formerly food-laden cart, and the Iron Fist Pirates continued their journey through the Nameless Island's jungle. Standish ordered them to leave Forehead Scar and Chin Scar behind—the morons could find their own way back when they woke up. Saul walked beside the cart the whole way, watching Sanji's slightly labored breathing as he took a mental inventory of all of the tools in his workshop, along with some new ones that he had fashioned since the blonde's abduction. His captain had promised him some time alone with their newest victim, and he intended to enjoy every second of it.

* * *

Thanks to all the my reviewers for their lovely words. Many of you are much nicer than me, begging for Sanji's rescue. Things won't go so easily for him. Poor guy. I once read that the amount a fanfic/doujinshi writer likes a character is directly proportional to how much said character is tortured. If that's the case, then this fanfic should be quite telling. *evillaugh*

Anyway, I don't know how it is with other writers, but with any story that I create, there are always certain events, phrases, and imagery that stand out so clearly in my mind that they are what drives the plot forward. These are the things that I know will happen before I ever type the first sentence. The steel trap scene in this chapter is one such event (along with Sanji's begging Nami not to cry in the kitchen scene and his arrogant "Does this belong to you?" in the very first chapter). How Saul tortures Sanji in the next chapter has also been determined from the beginning. I'm going to warn you now, it's going to be brutal. I might have to make you guys wait a bit while I mentally prepare myself before committing the words to the page. I know what needs to happen, but I've never written anything like it before. (This fic is full of firsts for me.)

Mwa ha ha...chew on that little tidbit. Till next time!


	11. Chapter 11

Reader **beware**, there be graphic descriptions ahead. A reminder...

This story is rated M.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

"This isn't what I wanted!" shrieked the girl. She was no more than ten years of age, and she was livid.

Heads whipped around to face the commotion. The floating sea restaurant The Baratie had only been open for a few hours, and things were off to a rough start.

"How could you be so stupid!" she continued on her tirade, unhindered by her parents who sat staring red-faced and tight-lipped at their own meals. Seemingly encouraged by the lack of response, the girl kept on ranting, hissing and spitting as her tantrum worsened. "I hate this food! I hate this restaurant! I hate you!"

The cause of her rage, a boy not much older than she was, stood silently by the table, his head bowed and fists clenched as he tried to contain his own fiery temper. Young Sanji owed a lot to the shitty geezer, he didn't want to ruin the man's dream when The Baratie's staff hadn't even had the chance to serve an entire meal. Instead, he intended to bite his notoriously vicious tongue and ride out the storm of insults and abuse. He could always go back to the kitchen and kick Patty's ass later. And his strategy was working quite well, until that little brat did the unforgivable…

The sound the loaded plate of food made as it crashed to the floor wasn't that loud in comparison to the ambient noise created by chatter and conversation in the dining room, but it may as well have been a gun shot by the way Sanji reacted. His eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open in horror as he watched the girl grind the spilled food into the tile floor with her foot, yelling and screaming at him all the while. The young chef's world tipped dangerously around him and his stomach felt like it was doing backflips as he watched the meal he had so carefully prepared be ruined beyond rescue or repair. How could this girl be so cruel? So thoughtless? So…_wasteful?_

Suddenly, Sanji was seeing red, and he lashed out a foot. Zeff had been teaching him the basics of Red Leg Martial Arts, and now he intended to show this little heathen the full breadth of his newly gained skills. With more speed and dexterity than most children his age, the young cook hooked his foot behind the girl's leg and, with a violent swing, sent her crashing to the ground.

"How could you treat food that way?!" cried Sanji, ignoring the girl's parents, who had sprung from their seats, their indifference banished by the attack on their daughter. The boy's entire body shook with rage, his insides twisting as they remembered the painful emptiness of starvation, and he advanced a step on the now silenced brat cowering before him. He raised his right leg threateningly. "I'll show you what happens when you don't respect food at sea!"

The girls stared up at him, eyes wide and terrified, and Sanji felt a small pang of satisfaction in spite of himself. However, his victorious feeling was short-lived as a couple of fingers roughly hooked themselves through the back of his collar and yanked him backwards. Caught completely off guard, all Sanji could do was curse bitterly as he was dragged from the dining floor back into the kitchen.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?!" bellowed Zeff as he threw his protégé against a rack of pans, making the cooking implements clang loudly on impact.

"The hell, shit geezer?!" Sanji barked back, quickly scrambling to his feet. He hands balled into fists once again as he faced down the former pirate. "You saw! She wasted all that food!" By now, he was red faced with rage, trying desperately to suppress angry tears. "You would have done the same!"

Zeff growled and swung his right leg at the fuming child. The wood of his peg leg made a dull cracking sound as it connected with Sanji's ribs and sent him flying deeper into the kitchen.

"You are _never_ to kick a woman," said the chef, his voice dangerously quiet as he loomed over his hot-headed sous-chef. "Women are precious. Like food, without women, we could not survive. If you don't respect them, you will be doomed. Understood?"

Sanji glowered up at his makeshift father figure as he panted on the floor. He was fairly certain the geezer had bruised a rib. "But she—"

"I don't care what she did," interrupted Zeff. "If I ever catch you hurting another woman, I will throw your scrawny ass out of here faster than you can say 'elephant tuna'. Understood?"

"But—"

"_Understood?!_"

Sanji gulped and nodded.

"Good." Zeff grabbed a towel from the counter and tossed it to the boy, who caught it easily. "You're on dish duty. I don't want to see you in the dining room for the rest of the night."

The young cook watched his mentor leave in silence, waiting until the double swinging doors closed behind him before he stood. His legs shook a little as he got to his feet, though not as much as when he first started taking Zeff's kicks in training. Everyday he became stronger, more resilient. But that peg leg _hurt_ when it connected with his growing body, and the kitchen seemed to tip around him when he righted himself.

"Shit," he cursed, placing a hand on the wall to steady himself. He blinked several times, trying to clear the fuzziness from his mind, but the room continued to move around him. Sanji could feel himself start to panic. The shitty geezer's kick hadn't been that hard. What the hell was wrong with him?

Now the restaurant was pitching dangerously beneath him, the ship whirling around him until the kitchen, the dining room, that bratty girl, Zeff, the food, the dishes, and even his own thoughts were all a wild blur.

Sanji wanted to scream. He was terrified, kicking his feet frantically as he tried to find purchase in the typhoon of memories that swirled around him. Just as he was ready to give up hope, his feet met solid ground so hard and fast that it sent jolts of pain through his system.

Opening eyes that he hadn't realized he'd closed, Sanji found himself in that bubble-filled pink room at Enies Lobby. A few feet away, Kalifa smiled coyly at him as she produced more of her strength sapping bubbles with her Devil Fruit power. The Straw Hat cook was panting from exertion, and his soap-smooth left arm indicated that he had been fighting the CP9 agent for quite some time. He remembered this event well, and knew this was a losing battle.

Assured of her victory, Kalifa charged at him. She had already discovered that her opponent refused to land any direct attack on her, pulling his kicks before they could connect every time. It was laughable that one of the strongest members of the Straw Hat crew should be so easy to take down.

Registering the oncoming attack, Sanji raised his right leg defensively, hoping to block Kalifa's next strike without hurting her, as he had all of the others. The woman smirked as she came within range, easily ducking under the cook's leg. Thrown off balance, he found himself lying on his back on the soap-soaked carpet, his right ankle in his opponent's delicate hands.

"You men are all so weak," laughed Kalifa, holding his leg in one hand as she brought up the other to smooth the trapped appendage in the same fashion as his now slick and useless arm.

Sanji winced as a sharp pain lanced through his ankle. He didn't remember her grip being so tight. With a quick shake of his head, he tried to refocus on the fight. He had to get that key to free Robin. But then he felt another, stronger jolt of pain. This time the sensation was so powerful that it shot clear up his leg to his hip.

"Wha?" Sanji tried to scramble backwards. Something wasn't right here. This wasn't how the fight had gone.

A cruel grin split Kalifa's beautiful face and she squeezed harder. When she spoke, it was with a silky voice that in no way matched her body. "Now, Black Leg, I'll teach you a thing or two about pain."

The cook narrowed his eyes, still not entirely grasping the situation. Kalifa leaned in close, pressing Sanji's leg against his body. Something strange glinted in her eyes and she suddenly gripped his ankle so hard that he could swear that he felt the bones breaking and grinding together. Black spots exploded in his eyes. The pain was beyond anything that the CP9 agent had inflicted, and Sanji tried to cry out in pain, only to find his tongue trapped and his scream muffled. Then Kalifa, her bubbles, and the pink room wrenched violently and disappeared.

* * *

Sanji's eyes snapped open as he was painfully and violently returned to the waking world. The first and only thing that he was aware of for several minutes was the sharp throbbing ache that burned away at his right ankle and traveled up his leg. The sensation was overwhelming, and he broke out in a cold sweat as he tried to regain control long enough to take stock of his surroundings.

Eventually, things began to come into focus. He was in a darkened room; seemingly underground, based upon the cold wet dankness that permeated everything. He was lying on a metal table, and could make out a few of the room's details from his awkward vantage point. There was a small fire place somewhere near the foot end of the table, the dull glow from its embers providing the only source of light. On either side of it, the walls were lined with shelves, racks, and hooks that held dozens of shadowy shapes. Sanji shivered. He didn't even want to know what those oddly shaped objects were.

Hoping to still his violently beating heart, he tried to take several deep calming breaths, only to find every attempt blocked. There was something hard and cold in his mouth holding it closed. Sanji furrowed his brow and explored the obstruction with his tongue. He winced when the sensitive muscle met sharp metal. A couple more minutes of gentle prodding revealed a frame, wired to his teeth, which held his mouth closed. Small bars protruded from either side, connecting the unusual gag to a leather strap that circled his head tightly enough to make the metal pull uncomfortably at the corners of his lips.

Sanji hissed irritably at the frustrating device, his arms jerking as his brain told them to remove it. But they were bound above his head. More leather straps, this time wound tightly around his wrists, were attached to a heavy bolt, rendering his hands useless. He shifted on the table and let out another painful hiss as the cold metal pulled at the still healing lashmarks on his back. Someone had gone to the trouble of removing his bandages.

The realization that he was naked once again hit him like a ton of bricks. He shivered, feeling more exposed now than he had in his entire time as the Iron Fists' captive, and fought desperately against his bonds to curl in on himself. But Sanji knew before he began that his attempts were futile. Not only had his arms been put out of commission, but his legs had also been taken care of.

He could feel the now familiar pull of leather around his knees, the straps extending to either side of him to bolts that were level with his belly button. The cook silently thanked whatever gods were out there for his flexibility, as his legs were pulled up into what could only be described as an awkward spread-eagle position. Or would be a spread-eagle, if his ankles hadn't been tightly bound to his thighs. Which brought him back to the unbearable pain in his most definitely broken ankle.

The pressure of the leather strap on the injured appendage was excruciating, and he guessed that by now the swelling was probably extensive. The bleeding had stopped for the most part, but he could still feel moisture oozing from the open wounds, the warm liquid dripping onto his thigh and slowly sliding over his skin until it met the table top. The cook's body involuntarily twitched at the sensation, causing his muscles to cramp as they tensed and jerked while trapped in the unnatural position.

Sanji hissed through his metal gag again as he tried to quell the fear rising in his chest with pure, righteous anger. There was only one person that could be behind this, and the blonde was certain that he had pissed the shitty bastard off enough that he was in for a whole new breed of pain.

"Welcome back, Black Leg," purred a silky voice from one of the darkened corners of the room.

_Speak of the devil._

"I hope you're enjoying the accommodations," said Saul with a sneer as he came into Sanji's limited field of vision.

_Oh yeah, loads. I've been meaning to give my legs a good stretching. Thanks, asshole._ Sanji hoped that the spiteful sarcasm in his thoughts was translated effectively in the venomous glare that he shot at his captor. Based on the frown that momentarily twitched at Saul's grin, he noted with grim satisfaction that some of it had gotten through.

"Still defiant as ever, I see," growled the Mechanic. He gave the strap connected to Sanji's right knee a rough yank, making him yelp around his gag as the force placed more pressure on his broken ankle and caused his hip to pop. His captive's breaths came in short gasps as the fresh pain rolled over him. Saul's smile returned as his dominance was reaffirmed. "We'll see how long that bravado lasts."

With those words, Saul strode out of Sanji's eyesight again, and the cook took the opportunity to try to regain his composure. Or, at least, what pitiful composure one could project when strapped to a table with legs spread wider than should be physically possible. He inhaled a shuddering breath and then let it go, the air whistling slightly as it escaped through the metal in his mouth. He had to prepare himself for what lay ahead. Sanji refused to break under this bastard's touch. But all of his worst nightmares and wildest speculations couldn't prepare him for what happened next.

Saul must have flipped a switch somewhere out of sight, because all of a sudden several lights flickered and buzzed to life, casting their harsh incandescent glow over the room. Temporarily flash blind, the cook blinked several times and then gasped—or what would have been a gasp if he were able to open his mouth—at what he saw.

The previously shadowy objects that lined the wall and floor had been illuminated in all of their grizzly, horrifying splendor. Shelves and racks and hooks and boxes were filled to the brim with implements for torture. Carefully categorized by use, Sanji could see several variants of knives, hooks, scissors, and needles. There were also a myriad of blunt objects of different shapes and sizes, as well as a shelf containing a number of phallic shaped instruments. The cook couldn't help but to shudder when he saw the latter, the feeling of his own kitchen tools being shoved inside him aboard the Thousand Sunny the night of his abduction suddenly fresh in his memory.

Like watching some terrible accident, he desperately wanted to look away, but instead found himself craning his neck to get a better look at his new surroundings. Moving his focus to the other side of the room, he briefly registered what looked like a power generator and some other large equipment in the very back corner before his undivided attention settled on the fireplace.

More of a forge than a fireplace, it wasn't the largest he had ever seen, nor was it ornate. Instead it bore a sort of grim utilitarian look. The wall above it was a different story, however. Several shelves were stacked one over the other, their entire surfaces crammed full of jars, boxes, and trays of preserved human body parts. The sight of them alone made him nauseous, and Sanji wondered with terrified morbid curiosity if those severed appendages had been removed pre- or post-mortem. Trying desperately to banish the thought, he let his gaze continue to travel upward until it landed on the last item on display. Above the shelves, mounted to the wall like some sick hunting trophy, was a semi-familiar pair of white wings.

"Like those?" asked Saul, whom Sanji hadn't noticed had moved back to his position beside the table. The Iron Fists' first mate smiled as if recalling fond childhood memories. "Ever heard of a Sky Island? Maybe not. All of the natives have these really nice soft looking wings." He glanced down at his captive whose rapt attention was still on the sad dingy relics. Saul chuckled before relaying the last bit of his narrative. "She was one of the stronger ones. Screamed the whole time I worked on the one wing. The girl didn't pass out until I was half way through cutting off the second."

Sanji's gaze whipped back to his captor's face, his body beginning to shake with rage as he pictured the poor nameless Skypiean being tortured.

"Basshterd." The word was nearly intelligible, muffled as it was by the gag, but the malice that dripped from the two syllables was evident.

Saul grinned, undaunted by his captive's rage. He had prepared for this. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out his ring of keys, and quickly removed one of the smaller ones. The same gauge as a heavy piece of wire, Sanji noted that it resembled one of Nami's lock picks more than an actual key.

"I think it's time I showed you one of my new creations," sneered the first mate, leaning over his captive and grabbing onto his chin with a firm grip. "I designed this especially for you, so I wouldn't have to deal with that smart mouth, but I could still hear you scream."

Pulling aside the left corner of Sanji's mouth with a finger, Saul inserted the key inside and slowly began to turn it. Soon, the captive chef could feel the metal frame begin to move, slowly opening like a trap door and forcing his lips apart. Within a few moments, Sanji found his mouth agape; the pressure on his teeth creating a dull ache that radiated through his jaw.

The Mechanic backed away and admired his work for a few moments. That metal frame really was an ingenious solution. That all too familiar feeling of self satisfaction swelled in his chest as he watched his victim try to remain calm in the face of the oncoming torture. He waited a few more minutes, relishing the sound of Sanji's ragged gasping breaths as panic began to settle over him, before leaning in to whisper in the blonde's ear.

"And now, Black Leg, the real fun begins."

* * *

To be continued...

I wasn't originally going to split this chapter, but then I was suddenly 3100 words in and nothing had really happened, so...

You know the drill! Please R&R! Those reviews are oh-so-motivating! :3


	12. Chapter 12

And now, _finally_, after making all of you wait so patiently, we have THE torture/bondage chapter of this little smut-tastic story.

**Warning**: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of bondage and torture. Once again, a reminder: **This story is rated M.**

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

"Tell me, Black Leg, have you ever been with a woman?"

The cheerful mocking tone in Saul's voice made Sanji cringe, his jaw muscles tightening painfully around the metal gag that held his mouth open just a little too wide. The Iron Fists' first mate cocked an amused eyebrow at his captive's silence. Turning his attention to a rolling table just outside of Sanji's line of vision, he continued to talk as if he had received a response.

"I'll take that as a 'no'. You still have much to learn." He paused for a moment, as if searching for the appropriate words. "Women, you see, are very complicated. So hard to please."

Something metallic clattered against the table, and Sanji involuntarily winced at the sound.

"They're not like men," the Mechanic droned on, as if he were lecturing a child about the birds and the bees. He walked around to the foot end of the table, and placed some tools on the edge before his captive had a chance to see what they were. "No, men"—Saul suddenly latched onto his victim's exposed manhood with a rough hand and began to stroke furiously—"men are easy. See? Here you are, in the least romantic setting imaginable, and all it takes is a little physical stimulation and you're already hard."

Sanji groaned around the gag and shuddered as he was worked into an erection, his treacherous body betraying him without even a single drop of aphrodisiac in his system.

"Women require much more foreplay if you really want to make them squirm." Saul's movements became more rigorous, causing his captive's hips to roll upward in response. He was so close to his climax that it hurt. "The trick with women is to draw out the experience, to build them up until their bodies can't take anymore. Then, and only then, can you truly marry the pain with the pleasure."

Suddenly, Saul's grip tightened around his captive's pulsating length. Sanji cried out, his body beginning to shake, when he felt the first mate's thumb press down on his tip, placing undo pressure on the sensitive organ.

"I've never had a man on my table before," stated Sanji's tormentor, grinning as he felt his victim's engorged cock twitch in his hand. He squeezed the thing harder, drawing an even louder moan from the captive chef. "I wanted to make sure that you had the same quality experience as my previous guests. To truly understand the feeling of pain and pleasure combined."

Sanji jerked his head up from the tabletop and watched in mute horror as his captor picked up a flexible tube with his free hand. Saul casually twirled the odd object between his index finger and thumb, watching his victim's response to it carefully. The first mate snickered, amused at Sanji's confused stare.

"Have you never seen one of these before?" he asked, gently running the tube over the chef's sensitive skin. "It's a medical device, though I suppose that Kuroda doesn't use them. They would get in the way of his craft. It perfectly fulfills my needs, however."

Saul openly laughed when he saw his captive furrow his brow at the comment. The blonde was panting through the metal frame; his trapped arousal was unbearable, making it nearly impossible for him to think clearly.

"This, Black Leg, is a catheter. Its original intent is to drain fluids from the body, however"—He moved his thumb aside and quickly inserted the end of the tube into Sanji's tip. The blonde bucked against his bonds and cried out in a mixture of pain and arousal as he felt the catheter being slowly fed into his erection. The pressure it created was both excruciating and rousing, and he broke into a cold sweat as the intruding object moved deeper and deeper into his shaking body—"its effect on an erection is rather magnificent, wouldn't you agree?"

But Saul wasn't done. Sanji's body twitched beneath his touch, his breaths coming in shallow gasps, as the Mechanic moved his hand down to grip the base of his erection. The original tingling of his arousal had evolved into a slow burn, the heat radiating out from the affected area and making his entire nether region hyper sensitive. Once again reaching down to the hidden spot at the end of the table with his free hand, Saul produced a thin silken strap, which Sanji immediately recognized as his wayward necktie.

"I always find it is best to have backup protection," stated the pirate with a malicious sneer as he began to tightly wrap the silk around the base of Sanji's throbbing cock. The blonde flinched and yelped when he felt it roughly tied off, blocking any blood flow to or from the engorged organ. Saul grinned wider and ran his fingers up the highly sensitive length, drawing out a whole new round of shuddering from his victim. "I can't have you coming prematurely on me, after all. Where would the fun be in that?"

When the man turned and walked away, Sanji tilted his head back so it fell on the table with a dull thud and closed his eyes. For whatever reason, he hadn't expected this component to his torture. His entire body shook from the painfully suppressed arousal, his hips and toes twitching intermittently with every particularly powerful throb of pressure. His racing heart worked against him, rapidly pumping more and more blood down below his waistline.

After several more agonizing minutes dragged by, he felt something brush against the inflamed skin in between his legs, causing his body to jolt in response. Sanji's eyes snapped open as he jerked his head upright once again to find that Saul had reappeared at the end of the table, a new mystery tool in hand.

"Now I'm certain you've seen one of these before," purred the first mate, holding out the device so the blonde could easily see it.

The object was made of metal, and its worn surface indicated that it had seen quite a lot of use, the silver shining dully in the flickering light. Blunt and rounded at the end, the top of it was smooth and bulbous, tapering down before ending with another rounded end. A wooden handle protruded from the smaller end, and Sanji could barely make out the thread of a screw on the bar that connected the wood to the metal. The tool seemed oddly familiar, as if he had read or heard about it before, but he was finding it hard to think clearly. Instead, he redirected his gaze to his tormentor, hoping that the potency of his glare wasn't too diminished by the heat of the aroused blush coloring his cheeks. He had a feeling that Saul was going to tell him the answer regardless of whether or not he indicated that he knew it. Damn, the bastard really liked to hear himself talk.

"This is called a Pear of Anguish. I think its use should be fairly straightforward." The Mechanic smirked as he demonstrated the device's purpose.

Delicately holding the smaller side of the pear-shaped end in one hand, he slowly began to turn the wooden handle. Sanji's eyes widened as he watched the formerly solid object split into four pieces, expanding outward until their circumference was easily twice the original size.

"Now you get the idea," grinned Saul, snapping the opened device shut with a few quick twists of the handle.

The Mechanic's eyes twinkled with suppressed excitement as he reached down one hand and teased his victim's entrance with his fingers, spreading it open to make room for his favorite tool. Sanji tensed against the touch and tried futilely to fight his way free, straining against his bonds with enough force to make the leather, softened from use, cut into his skin.

He had managed to remain fairly silent up until this point—allowing for the stray groan or moan and occasional yelp—but the blonde couldn't help but to cry out in pain as he felt the Pear being thrust into him. Saul grinned as he slowly pushed the device in deeper, stopping when only the handle remained.

"Does it hurt that much already?" he asked. The first mate shoved it in further, causing Sanji's hips to roll upward when it touched his prostate and a whole new wave of sensation washed over his suppressed erection. Saul faked a pout. "I haven't even begun to open it yet."

Sanji's entire body was shaking now. In spite of himself, he wanted to beg his tormentor for mercy. He desperately wanted relief from his painful ecstasy and to be spared the anguish that the aptly named tool now buried in his body would cause. But all he could manage around the metal frame in his mouth were a succession of loud gasping moans that only seemed to encourage his captor.

Slowly but surely, he could feel the Pear opening inside of him. At first, the sensation wasn't as bad as Sanji had expected, the pain tolerable in comparison to his bound manhood and his mangled ankle. But that soon passed as the device expanded beyond what his tight rings of muscle would allow. Fresh searing pain exploded within him, and the cook's back arched, stretching his flexible legs beyond even their limit, as he felt his insides tear. A scream broke free from his lungs as the Pear's circumference grew wider and wider. Unable to hold them in any longer, Sanji felt hot tears run down his face just as blood began to pour from his newly opened internal wounds.

Saul hummed with satisfaction when he finally heard the blonde give him a decent scream. How he had longed to hear that sound, ever since the surprise attack in the galley of his ship. The Mechanic still carried some slight bruising around his nose from when Sanji had broken it in his first escape attempt. He fully intended to repay him for the injury, tenfold.

Having opened the Pear as far as it would go, he let go of the handle to briefly admire his work. The Iron Fists' first mate had a feeling that this would be one of his masterpieces, even if Standish had forbade him to kill the blonde.

Sanji's scream died away to a whimper and then back to his ragged breathing as he grew accustomed to the feeling of the invading object. Somewhere underneath the pain and the arousal he felt a pang of frustration at being so easily broken. Furrowing his brow, the cook tried to go back to his imaginary Thousand Sunny, desperately wanting to escape the torture as he had during his public whipping. He couldn't believe that only a week before, he had been aboard that wonderful ship, doting on his Nami-san and Robin-chan, fighting with the stupid Moss Head, laughing with Usopp, Chopper, and Franky, and vigorously guarding the food stores from Luffy. It all seemed so far away now, like some distant dream. The chef had just barely begun to grasp the outline of the lion-shaped figurehead and the shadowy shape of the Straw Hat insignia on the sails when new movement snapped him back to his horrifying reality.

The straps holding his legs were being loosened. For a moment, the previously extinguished flame of hope flared to life in his chest. Was it over already? Had Standish, out of concern of losing his new play thing, forced his first mate to stop? Or, Sanji thought desperately, had his crew finally found him? Without even a moment's hesitation to brace himself for the worst, the captive chef opened his eyes, quickly blinking away tears as he lifted his head to see what was happening to him.

His small flame of hope was immediately doused when his eyes were met by Saul's cruel sneer as he deftly removed the straps binding his victim's ankles to his thighs. Sanji couldn't help but to groan in relief as he felt the sore appendages freed from their painfully awkward position, he feet now dangling over the edges of the table.

Leaving the blonde's knees bound, the Mechanic bent down and grabbed the end of the folded table that had previously hung down to the floor. Blood from Sanji's wounded ankle and ass were already running down its metallic surface and dripping to the floor, and the pirate made no attempt to avoid touching it. Easily swinging the final third of the table top up on its hinges, he quickly locked it into place, eager to begin the next phase of torture.

"I'll leave this in for you," grinned Saul, as he walked back around the side of the table. Sanji moaned when he felt the first mate give the handle of the Pear a slight shake, making the tool shift painfully inside him.

Then the Mechanic began to loosen the strap binding his victim's right knee. Wanting to show his captor that his will hadn't entirely crumbled yet, Sanji tried desperately to kick the man as soon as he felt his leg freed. But he once again found himself overwhelmed by pain and arousal, the combined sensation all but paralyzing the previously dangerous appendage. Saul laughed as his victim's leg twitched pathetically in his hands, immediately recognizing the failed attack for what it was.

"I've already let you kick me once; you didn't think I'd let you do it again, did you?" he mocked, holding Sanji's injured ankle in an agonizingly firm grip as he stretched it out to lay flat on the table.

The cook made no move or sound to respond, but simply watched with dejected resignation as Saul repeated the process with his other leg, easily positioning it beside its mate. Sanji's back, hips, and legs, stiff from their time spent trapped in such an unnatural position, creaked and popped and twinged in protest as they were straightened and laid flat on the table. An involuntary shudder vibrated up his body as the handle of the Pear made contact with the unyielding metal surface, pushing the object ever so slightly deeper into his body. The chef moaned at the painful sensation, drawing a snicker from his captor as he set about binding his victim's long legs together at the thighs, knees, and ankles before securing them to the table once more. Then, yet again, the Iron Fists' first mate did something odd.

Utilizing a long leather strap that was thinner than the rest, the pirate bound the top of his captive's feet together near the toes and then attached the extra length to the leather binding the blonde's ankles. The action stretched the muscles in Sanji's calves in a way that would have been uncomfortable for most, and pulled the skin on the bottoms of his feet tight. The chef furrowed his brow as he tried to find the reasoning behind the strange contortion, his hands balling into fists as he realized with dread that the man likely intended to beat his feet.

Saul didn't see the pitiful attempt at a glare that the blonde made. His back was turned as he fiddled with something in the forge near the foot end of the table. Sanji craned his neck, trying to catch any sort of hint as to what was to come, hoping to prepare himself. He didn't want to give his tormentor the satisfaction of hearing him scream yet again. But his view was blocked by the bald pirate's broad shoulders, leaving any thoughts as to what the man was doing purely to the cook's imagination.

After several minutes of silence that was only broken by the sounds of Sanji's ragged breathing and the occasional clang of metal on metal as the Mechanic worked in the forge, Saul finally turned to once again face his captive. The blonde tensed in mute horror when he saw the newest implement for his torture in his captor's hand.

It was a brand. The captive chef immediately recognized the insignia as that of the Iron Fists' flag, with its cruelly grinning skull flanked on either side by large fists. The end of the tool glowed a violent yellow-orange, and Sanji could feel the heat radiating off of the metal even from a distance. His feet twitched as Saul's intent became clear, and the blonde began to shake his head violently from side to side as he once again fought against his bonds.

"Now, now," teased Saul, his tone dreadfully light as he mocked his captive's futile attempt to escape, "I promised my captain that I would make sure that you wouldn't try to run again." He halted the approach of the brand just inches from the calloused undersides of Sanji's feet, making the cook whine around his gag as the heat rippling from the metal threatened to scorch his skin. "Really, you brought this on yourself."

Sanji thrashed more violently in his bonds, desperately trying to escape the unbearable heat of the brand that was so painfully close to the bottoms of his feet. But the leather straps held him firmly in place, and all of his struggling only resulted in new injuries as he strained muscles and pulled at joints, and the reopening of old ones as the straps dug further into his broken ankle and his violent movement on the metal table ripped at the lashmarks on his back.

He tipped his head back, his spine arching painfully and screamed when the brand finally made contact. Suddenly, all other sensation—his bound erection, his broken ankle, his torn back, his bleeding ass—was forgotten as his entire being was overwhelmed by the feeling of the hot metal burning into the soles of his feet. Sanji mentally prayed for the quiet sanctuary of unconsciousness, the only refuge left to him. But no darkness took him from his torment, leaving him to writhe on the table as the brand burned deeper and deeper into him.

Saul cruelly held the brand in place for several minutes, savoring the sounds of his victim's screaming and the smell of cooking flesh. When he finally did pull the hot metal away, pieces of the blonde's skin, having attached to the heated surface, came with it, leaving Sanji's feet bloodied and blistered.

As he turned and dropped the end of the brand back into the fire (he might want to use it again later), the Mechanic could hear Sanji sobbing. He grinned as he turned to face the captive that had given his crew so much trouble. Saul placed a hand on top of one of the trembling feet and was rewarded with a particularly pathetic mixture between a whimper and a yelp.

"Don't break yet, Black Leg. There is still so much more that I want to show you."

* * *

Hours later, Saul dropped his last bloodied tool—a serrated knife—onto the rolling tray beside his work table. It had taken a lot more work than he had expected to finally break his victim, to make the blonde look upon his tormentor, and not the tools, with abject terror. The Black Leg Sanji that lay before him now was a pitiful shadow of the man that had attacked him and attempted, not once, but twice to escape. The Mechanic knew that his captain would be disappointed, possibly angry, at the state his first mate had left the boy in, but the pirate couldn't help but to admire his work anyway.

Sanji still lay on his back, but Saul had once again tied his knees up and back to either side of him in order to gain better access to the blonde's most sensitive areas. However, this time he had released the boy's arms from above his head and bound his wrists to his ankles so both hung over the sides of the table. This was the first time that the first mate had tried such a body positioning, and he quite enjoyed the aesthetics of it. He made a mental note that he would have to try it again, provided that he had another victim so flexible cross his path.

The cook's body was bloodied, burned, bruised, and battered after the hours of torture. Upon careful inspection, Saul saw with satisfaction that not a single square inch of the pale skin remained clean. What wasn't broken open and bleeding, blistered, or burnt was stained a brilliant red. There were small crescent shaped cuts in his palms where Sanji had clenched his fists so tightly as to draw blood, but the Mechanic had quickly resolved that problem by pulling out his favorite pliers and relieving the blonde of his finger nails. The pirate had pulled each one slowly and deliberately, and placed the bloodied bits of keratin on the table beside his victim's head. The abuse to his hands had drawn an especially powerful reaction out of the captive chef; he had sobbed and screamed louder and louder as each finger was mutilated. Saul had been slightly surprised that the comparatively minor bit of torture had warranted such a strong response.

But the Iron Fists' first mate had to admit, however begrudgingly, that Sanji's strength had impressed him. One of the Mechanic's favorite torture methods was to beat the body until it shut down altogether, only to bring his victim back from the brink of death to start all over. It had taken considerably more effort to achieve such results with this particular captive.

Saul had started with asphyxiation, but had found that the Straw Hat pirate could hold his breath for an incredible length of time before passing out. And even then, he had only lost consciousness. The Mechanic had quickly awoken the blonde, eager to move on to his next strategy. Much to Saul's chagrin, bloodletting didn't seem to be as effective as he had hoped either. The cuts to the cook's arms, legs, chest, and stomach continued to bleed sluggishly, contributing the most to his stained skin. It was the electrocution, however, that had finally gotten some results.

The first mate had dragged his homemade generator out of the corner, and powered it up with a few cranks of a large handle on the side. Having removed the Pear of Anguish, he had inserted a new device into his shivering victim, one made especially to compliment the unique powers of his invention. Starting at a medium setting, he had repeatedly shocked Sanji from the inside, increasing the current little by little and watching the blonde squirm and twitch and moan under its effects. As the voltage of the shocks grew higher and higher, Saul couldn't help but to wonder if his victim had suffered electrocution before. The boy was obviously in pain, but he was still breathing, still fighting his bonds. Then, finally, at nearly the highest setting, Sanji's heart had stopped.

Infinitely pleased with himself for finally achieving his goal, Saul had pounced on the medically dead blonde, basking in the rush of power he felt when his victim's ribs broke beneath his chest compressions and he heard the desperate gasp of air as he brought Sanji back to life. Excited by the new development, he had repeated the process twice before finally stopping himself. He _had_ promised not to kill the boy after all.

Now as Saul approached his victim, those terrified blue eyes no longer went straight to his hands to see what tool he might be carrying. No. Now they when straight to his face. The Mechanic made no attempt of hide his satisfied grin as he received proof that he had trained his captive to fear him.

Sanji, who had already been shivering for at least the last two hours, began to shake uncontrollably as his tormentor drew near, his eyes opening in wide childlike fear. The metal frame in his mouth still held it open at a painfully wide angle, but he made no attempt to fight or even twitch away from his captor's reach when the man began to fiddle with the gag, tilting his head to the side as he did so. It took several minutes for Saul to fully remove the thing from the cook's mouth, and he took little care in the process, drawing several pained whimpers from the blonde when the sharp metal cut at his tongue, gums, and lips. When the cruel device was finally gone, Sanji lay with his mouth open for several minutes, a mixture of blood and drool dribbling down his cheek to pool on the table, seemingly unaware that the gag was gone. Once realization of returned function dawned on him, the captive chef opened and closed his mouth a few times, testing out the sore muscles, and raked his dried out tongue across cracked lips. Then he locked tear-filled eyes upon his captor, watching him pathetically from beneath a fringe of sweaty hair.

"Please…" His voice came out a sort of gurgling rasp, his vocal cords all but destroyed. The blonde's arms and legs twitched in their bonds. "Please…t…take…take it out."

Saul raised his eyebrows. "Are you _begging_, Black Leg?"

"P…Please," continued Sanji, undaunted by his captor's taunting. A sob so painful that it brought fresh tears to his swollen eyes hitched in his throat. "Please…please, take it…out. Please, let me"—another sob—"come."

Now, Saul laughed; the cold melody echoing around the dank room. He placed his hand on his victim's still confined erection. The poor abused organ looked as if it was one giant bruise, and he could feel the blonde's rabbit-y pulse beating in his grasp.

"Oh, you mean this?" The Mechanic pinched the enflamed skin around the catheter. Sanji moaned at his touch, his hips rotating upwards despite his weakened state. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Black Leg. This was one of my better ideas. I so wanted my captain to see it."

"Pl…please…please, take….it….out."

Saul frowned. The tearful begging wasn't as satisfying as he thought it would be. He was starting to get bored. It was time he returned the captive to the rest of his crew. Their tastes were not so refined. The first mate was sure that they could still get some use out of the blonde.

Using a scrap of leather, he gagged Sanji once again, uninterested in listening to his pleas for relief any longer. Then he undid his victim's bonds, loosening the blonde's arms first and quickly securing them behind his back before freeing his legs. Saul didn't bother binding the cook's ankles. He wouldn't be going anywhere with those mangled excuses for feet any time soon.

His captive made no attempt to struggle when he lifted him over his shoulder and began to carry him from his workshop. The first mate felt the dead weight of Sanji's broken body a little more than before as he climbed the stairs that led to the rest of the Iron Fists' hidden base, the increasing temperature making him perspire as he went. He passed several of his subordinates as he walked, and Saul could hear their excited whispering in his wake.

It took quite some time for him to work his way through the small labyrinth of hallways before he reached one of the rooms specifically reserved for the Iron Fists' captives. A heavy metal door opened to a small, darkened space whose only light was provided by a single flickering bulb that swung from the low ceiling. Devoid of any furniture, every few feet of the mostly barren mud brick walls contained metal rings. Chains and shackles hung from most of them, but those were no longer needed for their most recent captive. Grunting slightly from exertion, Saul dropped the still whimpering blonde in the center of the dirt floor. Looking over his shoulder, he could see a small crowd of his crewmates already gathered around the door. Word of renewed access to their victim had spread quickly.

Saul crouched before Sanji's shaking form for a moment, taking his blood and tear-streaked chin in his hand. He smirked at the broken blonde's pathetic fearful expression.

"Now, you enjoy yourself, Black Leg."

And then, Saul the Mechanic left, grinning widely as his hungry crew flooded past him to surround their long awaited prize.

* * *

If you're still with me after all of that, then you're probably as twisted as I am. Heh heh

Can you see though? Can you see why I split this into two chapters? If they had been combined, that would have been easily 9000 words of torture.

We're getting close to the climax now. Basically, the shit's about to hit the fan. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated! I'll be starting a new job here soon that'll take a lot of my free time, so every bit of motivation helps. :)


	13. Chapter 13

Congrats on making it through Chapter 12. That was a rough one. A reminder...

The story is **rated M.**

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

Kuroda hummed to himself as he walked. Not so much because he was in a good mood, but because it distracted him from the noise of his raucous drunken crewmates and because it warned the other Iron Fists of his approach. Though he had great respect for his fearsome captain, the doctor carried a certain amount of disdain for the rest of the crew. The men lacked a certain mindfulness in their actions, which they made up for with noise, drinking, and brutality that too often resulted in the premature deaths of otherwise strong victims.

Turning a corner, the doctor frowned slightly as he sidestepped the prone form of a passed out pirate, nearly dropping the load he had been carrying in the process. The fully laden tray tipped precariously in his hand, and several conscious Iron Fist pirates fled when they heard their doctor curse under his breath. Pausing for a moment, Kuroda readjusted the contents balanced on the wide tray into what was hopefully a more stable arrangement. The cart that Sanji's kick had propelled into the ocean had carried more than just food and water; and, with his carefully chosen supplies now resting at the bottom of the reef, the doctor's stores were running low. What few ingredients for his medicine mixing remained were precious, and heads would roll if he lost a single drop of what he now carried because of the bumbling idiocy of some faceless crewmate.

Satisfied that his cargo was once again secure, Kuroda continued his journey through the winding hallways of the Iron Fists' compound. His long striding steps carried him through the headquarters at an astounding pace, and he found himself at his destination within a few short minutes. Whatever pirates had been queued up awaiting their turn with their hostage must have heard of the doctor's approach, because the Devil Fruit user found the hallway empty and the door to Sanji's cell unmanned. The doctor let a small satisfied smile pull at the corners of his mouth as he opened the heavy metal door, carefully balancing the tray of supplies on the fingertips of his other hand as he did so.

As he entered, he had to duck his head, hunching his shoulders uncomfortably to accommodate his incredible height in the cramped space. Even so, Kuroda still felt the collar of his shirt brush against the ceiling, causing a small amount of dust to rain down. Any traces of a smile disappeared from his face. He had always hated this tiny room.

Not bothering to put down the tray, Kuroda noisily cleared his throat, effectively drawing the attention of the small group of Iron Fist pirates in the back corner of the room. The ruffians stood in a small semi-circle, and the doctor could see one of his crewmates kneeling on the floor, laughing as he thrust into Sanji's prone form. The blonde's head was turned so he faced the wall, obscuring his face from the doctor's view. The pirate held his victim's hips in his hands as he raped him. Sanji's legs hung limply on either side of his abuser's body, his bloodied feet twitching every now and then when by some clumsy luck the other man hit his most sensitive areas.

The group of onlookers stopped their jeering when they heard the intruding noise, and backed away cautiously when they saw their doctor looming near the door. Kuroda leveled a blank stare at his crewmates, no less imposing to the simple-minded men despite his awkwardly bent posture in the small space.

Never taking his eyes from his dangerous ship doctor, the pirate nearest the one taking his turn with Sanji tapped his crewmate on the shoulder. The man growled irritably as he was distracted from his fun, but the angry sound quickly died in his throat when he saw the reason for his interruption. He gaped at the doctor for a moment before coming to his senses. Turning his attention back to the shivering blonde in his hands, the pirate carefully pulled out, trailing blood and cum as he did so. His victim moaned and shuddered as the invading object left his body and then lay still in his own pooling blood. The ruffian barely managed to mask his disappointment as he zipped and buttoned his pants. He would have to finish up on his own somewhere else.

Kuroda watched his crewmates scurry from the room with a deadpan expression, making sure that the door was latched properly when the last man left. He didn't want any interruptions.

Finally finding himself alone with his patient, the doctor released a small sigh and prepared himself for what was to come. It had been three days since Saul had had his fill of torturing the blonde and left him in the cell for the rest of the crew. In the time following, Kuroda had made daily visits to the captive chef under his captain's orders to provide treatment and prolong their victim's life a little longer. The doctor's time spent with Sanji had fallen into a loose pattern of behavior that Kuroda didn't particularly care for.

Carefully depositing his tray on the dirt floor, Kuroda approached his patient with slow measured steps before dropping into a crouch beside him. He saw Sanji tense at his proximity, but chose to ignore it for the moment, frowning as he took stock of his patient's condition.

Sanji's arms remained bound behind him, and his back and shoulders bent at an unnatural angle as he lay on the trapped appendages. The blonde's wounds were healing poorly. Standish had only allowed for the most basic treatment and no bandages, and Kuroda could see swelling around several of the boy's more serious cuts and abrasions, the open sores glistening dully in the dim light. Infection was beginning to fester in a few of the deeper cuts in spite of the doctor's daily visits, likely a result of the dirty conditions, heat, and humidity. The cook's feet and ankle were especially troublesome. Pus, blood, and other fluids seeped from the mangled ankle, and the destroyed skin on the soles of his feet seemed to peel off at only the slightest provocation, leaving them in worse and worse shape with every round of half-treatment. However, the worst, most sickening and frustrating for Kuroda was Sanji's manhood, which remained bound and catheterized. The abused organ was painful just to look at, and the discomfort that it caused was the root of what made his patient so frustrating to deal with.

Slowly reaching out, Kuroda gently caressed Sanji's left cheek with the back of his fingers, brushing his fringe of blonde hair to the side to expose the flushed skin. The doctor noted with a small frown that the boy was burning a fairly high fever and that a fresh bruise marred the pale skin. Sanji had been so strong only days before, but the careless actions of the Iron Fist crew were driving their most resilient victim to-date to an early grave. With a feather soft touch, Kuroda traced the blonde's now discolored jawline with his fingers until they reached his chin. Holding onto it with the same gentle grasp, he turned Sanji's head so he faced him. The captive began to tremble at the action, no doubt anticipating another round of whatever abuse he had suffered at the hands of the Iron Fist crew.

"And how are we feeling today, Sanji-kun?" asked Kuroda as if he were a regular doctor addressing a patient in a hospital.

Sanji's eyes snapped open as he recognized the doctor's odd singsong voice, his trembling subsiding slightly. The cook knew that he wouldn't suffer any new abuse in the hour or so that he would spend under Kuroda's care. He whimpered around his gag, fresh tears welling up in his swollen reddened eyes. Kuroda frowned. He hated tears.

"Now, no crying please, Sanji-kun." He gently hooked his arms under his prone patient's shoulders and knees, and lifted him from the dirt floor; suppressing a grimace as the action reopened some of the blonde's lashmarks, causing them to bleed on the white sleeve of his lab coat. His wide mouth curled into what he hoped came across as a reassuring smile. "Remember? You promised, no more tears."

His patient sniffed, his broken body shaking a little with effort, but the tears continued to drip down his cheeks. Kuroda heaved a frustrated sigh and carried the blonde to where he had left the tray, placing him in a seated position in the cleanest spot he could find. Sanji made eye contact with the doctor as he was leaned against the wall, and the desperate pleading look in his tear-filled blue eyes caused a whole new wave of annoyance to wash over the Devil Fruit user.

Kuroda found joy in _controlling_ a strong will, not breaking it. Tears and begging only served to aggravate him, which was why he had always been content to let Standish and Saul finish off their victims. Once they were broken, the doctor wanted nothing to do with his former patients. He was frustrated that his captain made him continue to treat this one, dragging out the inevitable. And, to be honest, he was slightly surprised at the level of disappointment he felt at seeing Sanji in this state. The blonde had been a remarkable lover, even within the clutches of a drug induced haze. And his sharp wit and biting sarcasm when lucid had been a welcomed and refreshing break from the normally dull, whimpering victims that were delivered to the doctor's bed.

Turning away from his patient, Kuroda reached out an elongated arm and pulled the tray over so it rested closer to where he knelt beside his patient. The contents of a large bowl that took up most of the tray's surface sloshed a little from the action, though luckily none of it spilled. Carefully picking up the vessel, the doctor dipped a square of soft cloth in the milky fluid. A medicine of his own making, the liquid was a watered down version of what he had used to treat Sanji's wounds the first time around. A little bit of herbal antiseptic mixed with the substance produced by his Devil Fruit abilities created a medication that doubled as a cleaning agent and a topical painkiller. This mix, however, contained no anesthesia as the previous one had, and Kuroda could tell by the darkened rings under his patient's eyes that the blonde could dearly use some.

When he was satisfied that the cloth was adequately soaked in the salve, Kuroda began the grim time-consuming process of cleaning Sanji's many wounds. Starting with the abrasions that circled the blonde's neck, he steadily made his way down his patient's battered body, making return trips with the cloth to the medication in the bowl as needed. It was tedious work that clearly caused the captive a great deal of discomfort. Despite Kuroda's gentle touch, Sanji whimpered and moaned around the leather in his mouth, and occasionally cried out when the soft fabric raked across a particularly tender area. As with his treatments in the two days previous, the blonde was especially sensitive about his bloodied fingertips, struggling weakly against his bonds when the doctor took his injured hands in his own. The places where is fingernails had been were swollen and irritated from time spent pressed underneath him in the hours that he lay on his back in the dirt, and a couple of the open wounds appeared to be infected.

Kuroda took extra special care when he reached his patient's bound erection. Sanji shuddered when the soft fabric made contact with the highly sensitive region and bucked his hips upward into the doctor's hands more than once. Every time, Kuroda frowned and waited for the blonde to relax before continuing on. He couldn't help but to wonder if the old defiant Sanji might reappear if he were allowed relief from his painfully prolonged arousal. Ever mindful of the abused organ, the doctor carefully spread Sanji's legs to clear away the dirt, blood and cum that stained the skin between them and to treat any new tearing as best as he could. After several minutes of labor, he determined that the area was as clean as it would get given the circumstances and moved on.

The doctor saved his patient's feet for last, and with good reason. The pain that the treatment caused to the tender skin made Sanji scream and cry without fail. It was all Kuroda could do not to cringe at the sound of the blonde wailing as the burnt skin rubbed away at the faintest touch of the cloth. It was during this part of the treatment that the doctor realized why his captain continued to send him in to see to the boy. This in and of itself was a form of torture. The thought made him frown slightly as he ran the medicated fabric over the sole of Sanji's right foot, involuntarily tightening his grip around the blonde's broken ankle when he felt the appendage jerk away from his hand.

"My apologies, Sanji-kun," he said in response to his patient's pained yelp. Having finished, he dropped the cloth into remaining contents of the bowl—now stained pink with blood—with a small plop. Kuroda sat back on his haunches for a moment, lost in thought. He didn't like being used as a device for torture. The doctor took his Hippocratic Oath seriously, in his own twisted way.

Sanji whimpered again, indicating that he was ready for the next stage of his treatment, the sound quickly snapping Kuroda from his reverie. The doctor's frown deepened. This was the part that he loathed the most.

Reaching out, he gently removed the strap that gagged his patient, letting the leather fall to the dirt floor. He knew his patient had been waiting almost eagerly for this part, and the blonde's response was immediate.

"Please…"

Kuroda grimaced, his hand halfway to the tray. He hadn't been quick enough to avoid the begging.

"Please…" Fresh tears rolled down Sanji's cheeks as he struggled to make his torn vocal cords work. "…please, take it out. Please…let…let me come. Please—"

The doctor cut off his patient's pathetic pleas for relief by thrusting a cup to his cracked lips. Firmly holding the blonde's head in one hand, he tipped the cup and poured its contents into his mouth. It was the same watery mix of nutrients that Kuroda had administered through the feeding tube in his infirmary aboard the ship. Sanji sputtered and coughed as the bitter liquid flooded his mouth and ran down his throat. When he was satisfied that every last drop had been consumed, Kuroda took away the cup, only to cringe, annoyance marring his features, as his patient renewed his pleading.

"Please, no more," begged Sanji, his voice a little stronger after the liquid meal. His body shook with each sob. "Please, take it out. Please, let me come."

Kuroda turned back to the blonde, wearing his best no-nonsense expression; though he seriously doubted that the captive could see it for the tears that blurred his blue eyes.

"Now, Sanji-kun, you know the answer," he chastised the blonde, who continued to whimper and plead even as he spoke. "The Captain has decided that this is the best way to keep you from running, and"—

The doctor stopped midsentence when his patient broke his well-established pattern of behavior by launching himself at his captor. Kuroda tensed when the blonde suddenly leaned forward and buried his tear-streaked faced in his shoulder.

"Please…please, take it out." Sanji's voice was muffled by Kuroda's lab coat, and the doctor could feel tears beginning to soak the fabric.

Kuroda sat frozen in place, his mouth slightly agape. Never—_never—_had one of his victims willfully sought physical contact with him. His heart fluttered in his chest and his mind raced, unsure of how to respond. Slowly, as if by instinct, he raised his arms and wrapped them over his patient's trembling shoulders, caressing the boy's blonde hair with one elongated hand.

"Please," continued the blonde, his voice thick with tears, "please, I'll…I'll do anything. Please…let me come."

The doctor's eyebrows shot up. _Anything?_

He felt a pleasant tingle wash over him as his body reminded him of the first time his had lain with Sanji in his infirmary nearly two weeks ago. Kuroda shivered a little as he remembered the blonde's aroused moans, his eager mouth, and his talented tongue.

"Are you sure, Sanji-kun?" he asked, already unwrapping one arm from around his patient's naked form.

He felt the blonde nod into his shoulder, and reached a tentative hand down, his fingertips brushing the tip of the catheter. Sanji shivered as Kuroda's hand explored further until he grasped the end of the silken necktie in his hand, intending to loosen it to ease the catheter's removal.

"And what do we have here?" The voice's deep rumble broke the silence with the violence of a thunderclap.

Kuroda jerked upright and hurriedly stood, letting his patient fall back against the wall and swearing as he hit his head on the low ceiling. He whirled around to face his captain, who loomed large in the doorway, an evil grin splitting his face from ear to ear.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were defying orders." Standish's voice came out low and dangerous, the biting growl of an alpha putting the beta in its place.

The doctor merely frowned, knowing too well that a verbal response would be pointless. They both knew the answer. Instead, he bent and retrieved his tray from the floor, easily lifting its significantly lighter load and balancing it on one hand.

"I was just finishing my treatment," he said, passing his captain on the way to the door. The doctor indicated his patient, who was now trembling with fear, with a wave of his free hand. "He's all yours."

Standish's grin widened, and he quickly crossed the small room. Seating himself next to Sanji, he pulled the blonde into his lap. The captive chef's body began to shake more violently as his captor spread his legs to either side. The Iron Fist captain sneered up at his ship's doctor as he hooked his arms under the long pale limbs, pulling them even wider apart and completely exposing the poor boy's bound erection and torn skin.

"You know, I wasn't too happy with Saul when I first saw what he did to Sanji-chan," Standish conceded. He began to finger his captive, drawing out a whole series of aroused moans. "But, I have to admit, I quite _like_ him like this."

Kuroda suppressed a scowl, his mood long since soured by the intrusion. All he wanted now was the solitude of his infirmary.

"Please…please, stop."

The doctor grimaced as Sanji renewed his begging. Standish smiled even wider and added a second massive finger, drawing a pained groan from the blonde as the captain clawed his way deeper.

"Please, stop." A sob hitched in the captive chef's throat and fresh tears spilled from his eyes. "Please…please, let me come."

The bowl and cup rattled noisily against the tray as Kuroda's hand began to shake with suppressed anger, and he balled his free hand into a fist. But his captain kept doggedly on, the action of his invading fingers causing his victim to loudly sniffle and sob between his pathetic pleas for relief. Finally, the doctor could stand no more.

"Oh, just gag him already!" he snapped, spinning to face Standish once more, barely managing to avoid overturning his tray in the process.

The pirate captain grinned up at him. "My hands are a little full, so if you wouldn't mind…"

Kuroda glowered at his captain for a moment before striding over to silence the blonde himself. Much to his dismay, the leather strap was nowhere to be seen, and he realized that Standish must be sitting on it. Huffing irritably, the doctor pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and roughly shoved it into Sanji's mouth. The cook choked on the impromptu gag, coughing around the fabric. Kuroda was halfway to the door when his captain addressed him once more.

"It seems you've taken a liking to this one, Doctor," grinned Standish as he continued to torment his captive. "What, would you have kept him as a pet?"

The doctor stopped and turned to face his captain, struggling to keep his face neutral. The Iron Fist captain brought his free hand up and roughly grabbed Sanji's face, turning it so he was forced to look at Kuroda. The doctor's eyebrow twitched as he fought to keep his anger hidden. The beseeching look still lingered in those tear-filled blue eyes, but it was now laced with another emotion. _Betrayal?_ Kuroda met Sanji's sorrowful gaze with a cold one of his own. The Devil Fruit user would show no weakness, no compassion. Those traits did nothing more than pave one's road to hell.

"Not particularly, no," said the doctor, redirecting his gaze to his captain.

The grin dropped from Standish's face so quickly that Kuroda could swear he could see it lying on the dirt floor. "My orders are final. You'd do well to remember that."

Kuroda barely managed to suppress the scowl that threatened to flash across his pale features, choosing instead to simply turn and leave. When he finally reached the hallway, he released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, relieved to be out of the oppressive room. He made his way as quickly as possible back to the familiar warmth of his infirmary and the security of his homemade medicines. Kuroda frowned deeply as he walked, confused by the feeling gripping at his chest. He hoped that things would return to normal soon.

* * *

"You know what I miss?"

An Iron Fist pirate turned to face his crewmate, raising a quizzical eyebrow in response.

"Boobs." The other pirate's eyes grew wide as he pronounced the single syllable, his hands comically squeezing at the air.

His nearby crewmates laughed at the man's antics. The small raiding party of pirates had been sent out to replace the supplies lost during Sanji's second escape attempt. Numbering around twenty men, the group consisted of crewmembers that had either grown bored with the Iron Fists' newest victim, or flat out refused to lay with a man.

"Yeah," laughed another pirate roughly, "shame that Marine girl got away. She was cute. Looked like a good fit too."

Several others murmured their agreement. The pirates were itching for some action and to have a woman beneath them once again. They sat silently for several minutes, each of them picturing their ideal catch.

"Speaking of a tight fit, you should have seen that red head," one of the others chimed in. He grinned as he pictured Nami struggling in her bonds the night of Sanji's abduction. "She was a cold bitch though. Didn't shed a single tear the whole time we did her friend. We fucked that bastard raw for hours, and she just watched the entire thing, her eyes as dry as a bone."

Several of the surrounding pirates snickered at the story, many that had been there for the abduction nodding in agreement.

"I wish we could have taken her instead," lamented an Iron Fist, drawing even more nods of approval.

"Ship off the port bow!" the lookout suddenly called from the crow's nest.

The bored Iron Fists immediately sprang to their feet, running to see for themselves. Sure enough, just close enough to be seen with the naked eye, there was a large ship sailing in the opposite direction. The pirates squinted in the bright afternoon sun, trying to make out the symbol painted on the sails.

"Merchant, Marine, or pirate?" one of the men on deck called up to the crow's nest.

The lookout frowned and raised the spyglass to his eye, focusing on the flag of the distant ship. There was something oddly familiar about the symbol emblazoned across the black fabric, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Definitely pirates!" he yelled down to his expectant comrades.

"Which ones?!" replied a crewmate, somewhat irritably.

"Dunno!" answered the lookout.

"Well, what does the flag look like, moron?!" several of the men on deck bellowed angrily.

The Iron Fist pirate studied the mystery flag a second time before yelling down his answer. "It's just a skull and cross bones! And…a hat?"

The pirate that had just been describing Nami's tearless resistance grinned darkly. "A straw hat?"

The incompetent lookout took a third gander at the rapidly approaching ship before confirming his crewmate's suspicions with a thumbs up. The pirate, who had been placed in charge of the raiding party by Standish himself, puffed up his chest, his eyes glinting with suppressed excitement.

"Prepare to board the ship!" he ordered. His temporary subordinates eyed him doubtfully.

"You sure that's a good idea?" questioned one of the others. "I heard they're pretty strong."

The short term captain frowned. "Weren't you just saying how much you missed boobs?" he snapped. "Well, this red head had a great rack on her. Besides, they were easy enough to get past the last time." He laughed at his own bravado.

Emboldened by their leader's confidence, the Iron Fist raiding party rushed around the deck of the small ship, preparing themselves for what they assumed would be an easily won victory. The Iron Fist in charge grinned widely as they sailed within range of the Straw Hats' ship. He could already feel that red head's sweet flesh beneath him. It had been all too long since he had last had a woman, and he was more than ready for a little action.

* * *

Not my best chapter, but, what the hey...

Anyway, a few important things. So, **please read on...**

Firstly, I would really like all of your opinions on the OCs in this little fic. I like to use fanfiction to test out characters, and I would love to hear all of your reactions to Standish, Saul, and Kuroda. Who do you respond to the most strongly? What aspects of these characters work the best? What do you think needs improvement? Any other comments are welcome as well.

Secondly, I recently read an older fanfic where the author included a chapter of "extras" at the end. This was where she wrote in story scenarios that were suggested by readers, but didn't necessarily fit into the plot or were contrary to what she had planned. I was thinking that this might be a fun exercise in writing, as well as interesting for you guys. I've already had one request from a guest reviewer, who wanted to see Zoro find Sanji after Saul had tortured him. Is there anything else relating to this story that you guys wanted to read? Please, suggest away and you may just see it in an "extras" chapter when I finish this little smut-tastic work of fiction.

Thirdly, I was trapped without my computer or internet over the weekend, and only able to think about CMD. (I literally wrote the first two paragraphs of this chapter on my phone, out of desperation.) But I did have my sketch pad and pens, so please go an see my Chapter 8 cover image. It features a very sad bandaged Sanji and a very happy Kuroda, for any of you that might be curious as to how I picture him.

Art is here: PrisonerofConvention (d0t) deviantArt (d0t) com (remove space) /art/No-more-tears-lines-392577061

Don't forget to remove the spaces and replace the "(d0ts)"s with actual "."s. :)

I look forward to reading wonderful, thoughtful reviews!


	14. Chapter 14

Wow, it's been nearly two weeks since I last updated. I am so sorry. orz

I updated the summary and cover image to better reflect the spirit of this fic. Yay.

Here is the longest chapter so far.

This story is **rated M**.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

In the dirt and the heat and the humidity and the flickering light of his cramped cell, Sanji could feel himself beginning to slip away. He had lost all concept of time, awareness of its passage blocked in the windowless room, and confused by his fatigue, pain, and arousal. The cook wasn't sure how much he slept. Minutes, hours, days, months, it was impossible to tell how long his fitful slumber lasted. And it was always prematurely ended, interrupted by the steady stream of Iron Fist Pirates coming to play with their broken toy. Most of all, Sanji wanted desperately to escape in any way possible. But any chance at physically leaving the small hellish island had been robbed from him along with the last shreds of his dignity and humanity, and so he was left with only one method for retreat: inward.

It had worked fairly well, initially. After Saul had left him in that tiny room and the first wave of Iron Fists, hungry for the feast denied them, had flooded in, Sanji had escaped to his imaginary Sunny to ride out the abuse. But as each hour and minute and second dragged painfully by, it had become more and more difficult for him to hold on. Soon, his crewmates—who in his daydream were partaking of a particularly lavish feast prepared by the Straw Hat chef, himself—began to disappear before his eyes. Franky had been the first to go, vanishing into the salty imaginary sea air so quickly that the unsaid ending to his sentence hung heavy like thick fog over the grassy deck. Sanji wasn't surprised to see the blue-haired cyborg depart first. He had only known the shipwright for little more than a few weeks before his abduction. The cook couldn't help but to lament not getting to know his newest crewmate better. They had all been so excited to have him as a part of their crew, not to mention the beautiful new ship—no, _home_—that he had built for them. Chopper and Robin had been the next to vanish, the little doctor disappearing only moments before the archeologist. Chopper had been dancing on the long table with chopsticks in his nostrils, making Robin laugh as she delicately cut into a fruit tart on the plate before her. Sanji cried out in a mixture of loss and sadness when the pair of Devil Fruit users had disappeared, Robin's laughter still echoing in his ears. It was then that he realized that the others where seemingly unaware of their vanishing crewmates, as they continued to eat and make merry as if nothing had happened.

Sanji suppressed his saddened frown as he observed the remaining Straw Hats. He could still feel everything that his tormentors did to him as he lay in the dirt, but he wanted to hang onto his delusion of safety, to remain among his friends for as long as possible. Luffy, Nami, Zoro, and Usopp laughed and chatted and grinned around their full mouths, and the cook felt his chest tighten. These were the crewmates he had known the longest; the people that had convinced him to leave the Baratie and go out to sea. They had seen so much together, and he had forged completely unique relationships with each one.

There was Usopp, future Brave Warrior of the Sea; his cautionary voice of reason (though often laughably pessimistic) and occasional partner in crime, who was, oddly, as good a listener as he was a speaker. The chef had always somewhat secretly enjoyed the sharpshooter's outlandish stories. Though each word out of Usopp's mouth tended to be at most a half-truth, his talent for weaving them together drew his audience in without fail. His descriptions were vivid, his plots intricate, and his sentences complex and eloquent. When the longnose vanished from his place at the long table, Sanji felt a small part of his heart break away. He hoped that one day, at their journey's end, that he might be in one of Usopp's stories.

He turned to Zoro next, ever his rival and brother in arms. If Sanji was their captain's left hand, then the swordsman was his right. Dominant, strong, and steadfast, the cook knew that he could always count on the marimo in a fight, though he was loath to admit it. Nor would he ever concede that he was stronger thanks to Zoro, even if it was true. Their constant quarrelling and sparring had kept the Red Leg Martial Artist in prime condition and had kept him improving upon his techniques everyday as he sought new ways to best his rival. Sanji felt a pang of guilt tug at his heart as he realized what his seemingly inevitable death at the hands of the Iron Fists would do to the first mate. Zoro had always charged himself with protecting his crew, even the smart-mouthed cook, however begrudgingly. Sanji felt his grip on the imaginary Sunny slip when the swordsman disappeared, the bottle of sake that had been half way to his mouth banging loudly on the tabletop before clattering noiselessly to the grassy deck. He would miss Moss Head, and wished for him to find a new even stronger sparring partner.

The sky around his phantom Thousand Sunny was beginning to darken as the all too familiar haze of pain began to reclaim the cook's body, and he immediately focused all of his attention on his last two friends. Nami was yelling at Luffy about something, and a curly eyebrow twitched in annoyance as Sanji realized that he had let the rubberman steal from his lovely swan's plate. The redhead's fiery temper, though a little scary, was one of the things that had always drawn him to her. Nami was so unlike any other woman he had ever met. Smart, talented, consistently level-headed (except where treasure was involved), and secretly one of the bravest members of the crew, the cook would do anything for her, more than happy to bend to nearly every whim. The Love Cook had maintained a steady supply of fantasies about the redhead ever since they had met, and had often found himself daydreaming about romantic outings filled with handholding and conversation over a bottle of expensive wine and maybe dancing. Somewhere deep down, Sanji knew that romance with the navigator was unlikely, but he had reconciled that fact long ago. Nami was a steadfast friend and confidante. There were very few people in the world who could have endured the hardships that she had. The cook knew that what she had had to watch that night in the kitchen had likely torn the redhead apart. He was certain that she had kept her promise to remain dry-eyed until every last invading pirate had left the ship, but he felt terrible about the tears that had more than likely fallen after their departure. He reached out with a trembling hand, wanting to feel his friend's warm embrace one last time, when Nami, as the others before her, vanished.

A strangled sob ripped its way free of his torn vocal cords and the grassy deck shifted beneath his feet. Suddenly, Sanji felt a little more of the torture his body was enduring while his mind was away, shuddering as he vaguely felt something thrust into him. The cook screwed up his face, scrunching his nose and setting his jaw. He had to focus, dammit. Luffy was still there.

Sanji could still hear the sounds of his captain eating, as he noisily tore into the unguarded feast before him. Luffy, the glue that held them all together. Luffy, who unabashedly and unfazed chased after his dreams, while simultaneously driving his crew to do the same. Luffy, whose infectious laughter could lighten even the direst situations. Luffy, who accepted the best and the worst and the in-between in all people. Luffy, who would cross hell and high water, and fight entire fleets of pirates and marines, and walk into the den of a notorious gang, and declare war on the World Government for his nakama. Sanji had always insisted that Nami had been 98.72% of the reason why he had joined the Straw Hats, but that had been more about keeping appearances. In truth, it had been Luffy's unswayable passion, unblinking courage, and odd perceptiveness that had drawn him in. After all, the pirate had asked him to join the crew, not only because he was a first class cook (though that played a part), but because he had fed his starving enemy. Luffy had accepted, trusted, and even admired his decision without question. He wanted the chef on his crew because of his _compassion, _not just because of his prowess in the kitchen and on the battlefield. That act alone had been what convinced Sanji to take that first step out of the doors of the Baratie. He would follow his captain anywhere, and knew that when he found the All Blue, no one would be happier for him than Luffy.

Sanji felt a sharp stab of pain pierce his side, and realized that one of the Iron Fists must have kicked him. His breathing became more labored, and it was then that Luffy looked up from his plate, meeting the cook's gaze for the first time during his fantasy. The Straw Hat captain was wearing that serious contemplative expression that indicated his concern for his friend, his deep frown at odds with his normally sunny disposition.

"Sanji." Luffy's voice sounded muffled, as if he were hearing it while underwater. He still clutched a half-eaten drumstick in his hand, and sauce slowly dripped from the meat onto his plate. Sanji felt his eyes begin to water with tears as the sight brought back memories of his last meal with his crewmates. How he wished that he could go back to that carefree moment. He tried his best to blink the salty water from his eyes when he heard his captain speak again. It was getting more and more difficult for him to hold onto his refuge. Luffy's frown deepened as he spoke. "Sanji, where are you? We _need_ you."

The chef wanted to answer, but a particularly violent attack on his physical body caused his imaginary Sunny to jerk unnaturally in the water, and he fell to his knees on the grassy deck. He reached out to Luffy, who continued to stare at him with the same grim expression. How he longed to be with his friends again, to feel a warm hand on his shoulder or an embrace that contained no ulterior motive. He didn't even mind that his captain's fingers were coated with grease and sauce from the chicken as he stretched an arm out to him. But, just as when he had first retreated to his phantom Sunny, the cook would just barely miss grasping those searching fingers, once again denied any human contact.

Instead, the ship shook beneath him and then dropped away. Sanji screamed as he fell. He didn't want to return to the hell of his reality yet; he wasn't ready, never would be. His own mind both saved and cursed him as he felt sun-baked rock beneath his feet. Dread froze his heart, its frigid iciness spreading to every inch of his body as he looked up and saw the vacant horizon. The cook knew this place, knew every crack and crevice and pebble. Behind him was the spot where Zeff had sat for those long weeks, his back facing him. To his right was the natural basin where he had fought with all of his willpower not to greedily gulp all of the rainwater collected inside in one sitting. And ahead of him was that familiar view. He remembered that thin, unbroken blue line well. Hopelessness clawed at Sanji's chest, and he felt himself reduced to the fearful, starving, skeletal child that had called that miserable rock home for 80 days. That place was a prison, no less harsh or cruel than where the Iron Fists now kept him confined.

Sanji broke.

When Kuroda finally arrived to treat his injuries for the first time, the cook couldn't help but to be a little thankful to be pulled from his visions of that desolate rock. He had whimpered and cried at the longed after gentle contact as the doctor tended to his wounds, and when he felt his gag loosened and removed, Sanji had pounced at the chance to beg for relief. Kuroda had frowned and chastised him every time, insistent upon his captain's orders. It was finally in his third attempt that the captive chef had gotten some results. He really had been prepared to do anything the Iron Fist doctor wanted in return for his manhood's freedom—after all, what hadn't he already done under the influence of that powerful aphrodisiac?—and had been so agonizingly close to his pitiful goal when Standish had walked in.

Though he had masked it in his subordinate's presence, the Iron Fist captain had been furious at the scene he had interrupted, and had wasted no time in punishing his captive for his misbehavior. He had viciously beaten the bound blonde, and raped him so brutally that Sanji had been certain that he would tear in two. The excessively rough handling had successfully nullified Kuroda's treatment and had even reversed the effects on many of the cook's wounds.

Now Sanji shivered as blood ran from his reopened cuts and abrasions, the red substance mixing with sweat and other fluids and pooling beneath him. It was all he could do to simply focus on his breathing; the act, already encumbered by his bruised and broken ribs, that much more blocked by the wad of fabric stuffed in his mouth. But it was a start, and at least he was alone. This was the longest amount of time that the cook had spent on his own since his capture. He wasn't sure if it was because the other Iron Fists were afraid that their captain or their doctor might still be with him, or if they had grown bored of him, or what, but he would take advantage of the break nonetheless.

He had been left lying on his side, which was a small miracle as he had discovered that it was the most comfortable position—placing minimal pressure on the worst of his injuries—and was too weak to move himself. Sanji debated whether or not he wanted to try to sleep. He knew that he desperately needed rest, but it seemed that his imaginary Sunny had been permanently replaced by that godforsaken rock. When faced with choosing between the two hells, the chef came up blank every time. He wanted nothing to do with either.

In the end, his exhausted body made the choice for him, his heavy eyelids falling shut. The physical world immediately fell away as the cook was gripped by his nightmare, and he could already feel the smooth stone beneath his feet when he heard the door to his cell open. The sound of the heavy metal hinges creaking meshed unnaturally with the sounds of the waves crashing against sides of his nightmare island, but he recognized it for what it was. Sanji's eyes snapped open, his dream dissolving as quickly as it had come, as he looked to see who would take their turn with him next.

It was the Scar brothers and Billy. Sanji felt his stomach twist in dread. The trio had been particularly rough with him since he had been incapacitated; eager to get revenge for the inordinately large number of times he had humiliated them. His body shook with renewed vigor as it remembered the ruthless beating that these specific pirates had doled out during their last visit.

"Aw, look," sneered Forehead Scar, giving Sanji's shoulder a not-so-gentle nudge with his foot so the captive fell onto his back. The cook yelped around his gag when he felt his reopened lashmarks connect with the dirt floor. The Iron Fist pirate snickered. "He's scared of us."

"It's about fucking time," agreed Chin Scar. He grabbed onto the blonde's broken ankle (it had become a favorite handhold among many of the crewmembers) and dragged him to the center of the room. Sanji cried out as he felt the rough surface scrape against his bleeding fingers, arms, and back, but lacked the necessary strength to struggle against the action. The threesome laughed at his pathetic whimper.

When he came to a stop, the pirate made sure to spread his victim's legs as far apart as possible, completely exposing the abused area between them. Sanji tried desperately to refocus on his breathing and prepare for what was to come. At this point, he had been raped more times than he could count, but the pain and the humiliation never lessened. He shuddered as one brother positioned himself between his legs and the other by his head. They liked to force the cook to watch. Chin Scar had just begun to unbutton his pants when Billy stopped him.

"Why don't we make this a little more interesting?"

Both brothers paused mid-action to look up at their comrade expectantly. The pirate removed a small waxed paper packet from his pocket, a miniature avalanche of dust and dirt raining down from his clothes as he did so.

"Lookee what I swiped from the infirmary." He grinned and waved the packet back and forth.

The Scar brothers both frowned.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" questioned Chin Scar. "Kuroda will kill you if he finds out."

"Then we'll just have to use it before he does!" snapped Billy in response. He quickly recovered his grin. "Besides, I heard that Captain was furious with him for some reason. I doubt he'll be bothering us for awhile."

The other two pirates nodded in agreement, and Sanji winced when he felt Chin Scar's grip momentarily tighten around his knees.

"So, what is it?" asked the brother seated at Sanji's head.

Billy shrugged and raised the small package close to his face in order to read the label in the flickering light. "Dunno. I can't read his handwriting. It looks like it says 'Love Stone'." He grinned darkly. "That sounds promising."

Sanji's eyes widened and adrenaline gave him enough strength to struggle feebly against his bonds. He was already aroused as it was, and had been for what felt like forever. Even now, he could feel his pulse beating around the silken necktie that bound him. He wasn't sure if he could survive an aphrodisiac on top of that, particularly when it was administered by amateurs.

The trio laughed at his pathetic attempts to fight, the brothers easily pinning the cook to the floor while Billy dropped into a crouch beside his head. The pirate sneered at his captive as he upended the packet, letting its contents, a small black cube, fall into his open palm. He carelessly tossed the waxed paper over his shoulder and then leaned in close. Sanji could distinctly pick out the sharp odor of cheap whiskey on the pirate's breath as he bent over him and plucked the gag from his mouth. Unwilling to ingest the foreign substance at any cost, the cook immediately clamped his mouth shut; the action drawing something between an amused snort and an annoyed grunt from Billy.

Sanji's small act of defiance was in vain, however, as his tormentor latched onto his bruised jaw and easily forced it open. The cook shifted and trembled and shook in his captors' combined grips as the small black cube was dropped into his open mouth, dissolving almost immediately on his tongue.

Satisfied that his objective had been achieved, Billy grinned and backed away, willing to let the brothers have their turn while they waited for the drug to take effect.

Initially, the captive chef didn't feel anything, and wondered hopefully if perhaps it had been ineffective or simply a placebo. He lay as still as possible as Chin Scar began to thrust into him, watching his clumsy, jerking movements—his head was forcibly tipped upward by the other brother—with glazed over eyes. He had discovered early on that it was best not to fight the brothers, a couple of broken ribs marking the hard-learned lesson. Sanji tried his best not to look at his own painfully bound length, clearly visible from his forced vantage point. Instead he watched his own rape through unfocused eyes, all but forgetting the Love Stone as he felt his insides tearing open, his blood slicking his abuser and the floor. And then, right around the time Chin Scar accidentally found his prostate, the cook felt the drug kick in.

The sensation began as a slow burn in his chest that slowly spread to enflame his entire body. Suddenly, every nerve ending seemed to respond at once, his new hypersensitivity sending wave after wave of feeling southwards. Sanji gasped and involuntarily bucked his hips upward, driving his rapist further into him. His muscles tensed and released around the invading object, and the captive chef continued to grind against his abuser as he felt more and more pressure build between his legs. The room swam around him as what little blood remained in his body rushed towards his erection like a tsunami. His pounding pulse roared in his ears, and he could vaguely hear the threesome laughing at this newest development, reveling in every moan and gasp that escaped his lips.

The rest of his time spent with the three pirates passed in a blur as they each took their turn with him. The aphrodisiac had had its intended effect, and then some. Sanji found himself easily coaxed into doing anything the trio wanted, going beyond even the acts he had committed with Kuroda in the infirmary aboard the ship.

An impatient knock at the door pulled the brothers and Billy away. The Iron Fist pirate that had been interrupted by Kuroda earlier was back with one of his friends. It was their turn. Under any other circumstances, the threesome would have argued with the intruders, but they seemed eager to show off. Instead they stepped aside, allowing the returning pirates to get a full view of their captive.

Sanji lay on the pressed dirt floor, trembling and panting under the effects of the potent drug. Sweat and dust coated his battered body, but did little to obscure the heated blush that colored his cheeks and the thin line of white-tinged saliva that dribbled down his chin. The newcomers' eyes widened. They had never seen their captive look so…_inviting_.

The cook was starting to feel rather uncomfortable; the sensation completely different from anything he had experienced before. He barely noticed when the new pirates entered, could only hear a vague far-off version of their quick verbal exchange with the Scar brothers and Billy, and had no idea of when exactly the trio had left. Sanji moaned when he felt the new Iron Fist settle between his legs, the heat of the man's body excruciating against his hypersensitive skin.

The new pirate was just beginning to take his turn when Sanji felt the sudden turnaround in his condition. His heart fluttered oddly for a moment, like a moth trapped against a window, and then, quite suddenly, an intense sharp fiery pain gripped his chest and stomach. Sanji's fatigued body reacted to the foreign pain with a ferocity that he hadn't expected, given his condition, jerking violently beneath his abuser. He heard the pirate grumble irritably and felt the other attempt to hold him down, but their actions did little to slow the pace of his fit.

His breaths were coming in loud desperate gasps and his feet scrambled on the floor, leaving long trails of red as the bloodied appendages fought for purchase on the rough surface. The cook's heart was beating at a mere fraction of its normal pace, and each thump felt harder than the last, as if the organ intended to break free of his chest and escape on its own. Somewhere above him, he could hear the pirates swearing as they tried to continue with their fun even in the midst of their victim's rapidly declining health.

Soon, Sanji was certain that he was going to die. Each passing minute marked a slower and slower heart rate and higher intensity pain. But the pirates kept doggedly on, determined to get their time in. Suddenly, the cook felt a new presence looming over him and heard a familiar singsong voice bellow angrily, though he couldn't pick out the words over the ringing that had completely engulfed his hearing. He felt the pirate beside his head violently knocked away; the ruffian's head making a dull cracking sound as it connected with the mud brick wall behind him. The pirate between his legs didn't even have to opportunity to pull out before he was also dispatched. Sanji normally would have shuddered at the feeling of the lifeless body being removed from his, but he was still deep within the grip of his attack, and simply lay on the ground, gasping for air like a fish out of water as his body began to shut down.

Gentle hands lifted him, and turned his quaking frame onto its side. The captive chef felt his breathing slightly eased, but couldn't shake the pain in his chest and abdomen. He tried desperately to curl in on himself, to hide away in his misery and let the overdose take him. But his rescuer had other plans. A long hand caressed the back of his head, holding it up from the ground in a soft but firm grip, while two fingers on the other found their way into Sanji's mouth, travelling to the back of his throat and provoking his gag reflex. The cook began to convulse, fighting against the new sensation as his stomach contents worked their way upward. He felt the hands move away just as he began to vomit, emptying the pitiful contents of his stomach onto the floor. He continued to wretch for several minutes until he was merely dry heaving, fresh tears rolling down his face from the exertion. Then he felt the long arms wrap around his shoulders and hook under his knees, and he was hurriedly lifted and carried from the room.

Sanji couldn't be sure of how long he was carried or how far they went or which turns they took. All he could think about was the intense pain that engulfed his entire torso and the still-agonizingly slow beat of his heart. Finally, he was being put down, a firm mattress cushioning the right side of his battered body as he was laid on it. He could vaguely hear his rescuer rushing around the new room, glass bottles clinking loudly as he searched for something. A fresh wave of pain gripped his body, and the cook jerked violently on the bed, fighting feebly against his bonds.

Those gentle hands returned then, one holding him down. The sharp point of a needle made contact with his exposed arm, and he tried to twitch away from the sensation, provoking the hand holding him down to place more pressure on his bruised skin. Sanji groaned as the contents of the syringe rushed into his body. Unlike the slow and then rapid build of the effects of the Love Stone, the antidote worked much more quickly. The cook felt his pain subside, settling back to the baseline level of ache that had previously been established. Even his heart stopped its assault on his ribcage, and he found his labored breathing eased.

The comforting darkness of exhausted unconsciousness was beginning to grip him, but his much needed rest was held at bay by his still trapped arousal. He shifted his weight on the bed a little and moaned. If he could only be freed, some sanity might be restored.

His savior must have come to the same conclusion, because he felt the bed sink as a body sat on the edge of it. Long fingers grasped his length, holding him steady when his hips bucked against the sensation, and others began to work at the tight knot tied in the blood and sweat-soaked silk. After several minutes of work, Sanji felt the necktie fall away, and his body began to tremble as it desperately sought release. But the catheter still blocked its path. The cook groaned and shuddered as he felt the hand wrapped around his cock tighten slightly as the other slowly slid the tube out. The sensation was as painful and rousing as when it had been inserted, Sanji's toes flexing and curling at the feeling. He cried out when he finally felt himself freed of the medical device, and he moved deeper into the grip of those wonderful hands.

"Plea—hah—Please, le-let me—ah—please…" His begging came out in a jumbled mess of barely cohesive words, but they had the desired effect.

The hand let go, and so did Sanji.

A confused combination between a yell and a gasp escaped the cook's mouth as he _finally_ found release. It had been so long that the sensation was more painful than anything else, but Sanji welcomed the feeling nonetheless. It was relief. That's all that mattered.

As his blood began to vacate the tortured organ and travel back to areas of his body that so sorely needed it, Sanji could feel the fog that had settled around his mind lifting. His irrational, childlike fear began to subside (though it remained, simmering quietly beneath the surface of his thoughts) and was replaced by his old anger and determination. The cook closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. It felt so wonderful to be sane again, even if he was still trapped in the epitome of hopeless situations. He began to drift off into a fitful slumber, oddly comforted by the small room and the mattress beneath him. Then his nightmare returned, reminding the Straw Hat chef that his predicament was dire, that he was injured and bleeding, that his friends still hadn't found him and probably never would, and that he was currently helpless in the hands of a man that he had promised to do "anything" for.

Sanji reopened his eyes, banishing his dream for the moment, and quietly watched Kuroda move around the small infirmary. The Iron Fist doctor had saved him, not just from his trapped arousal and subsequent mental infirmity, but from death itself. The cook frowned. What would the odd man want in return? Sanji's desperation had subsided, gone the moment his sanity returned. He didn't relish the idea of willfully pleasing the doctor.

Kuroda seemed to be unaware of his patient's stare as he searched through the multitude of bottles and jars that filled the shelves lining the walls of the slightly cramped space. The doctor muttered to himself as he worked, and Sanji picked up the stray word or phrase now and again, though most of them (What the hell was "unexplained bradycardia"?) may as well have been jibberish to him. The chef listened carefully, committing the new vocabulary to memory. He hoped to ask Chopper about them, provided that he ever got to see the reindeer again.

When the doctor appeared to have found what he had been looking for and turned back toward the bed, Sanji hurriedly snapped his eyes closed, feigning sleep or, more accurately, unconsciousness. If Kuroda expected a reward for his deeds, then the chef hoped to prolong the time before that particular confrontation for as long as possible—or at least until he could breath and move properly.

Once again, the Devil Fruit user paid the state of his patient's consciousness no heed. Sanji felt the backs of long fingers brush aside his hair and against his heated skin as the doctor checked his temperature, and then the prick of a needle in his arm as he received a second injection. The cook barely suppressed a grimace as he felt the metal slide into his bruised skin, hoping desperately that whatever was being pumped into him was meant to treat his most recent symptoms and not to incapacitate him or worse. He pushed the morbid speculations aside to refocus on his struggle to lie still as he felt the doctor's finger tips caress his cheek, jaw line, and neck, and run down the length of his arm, tracing its awkwardly bent arc from shoulder to wrist. Sanji very nearly forgot his little bit of acting when his wrists were suddenly freed from the leather that bound them and he was gently turned to rest on his back. A thin blanket was pulled over his prone form, and then he heard the door open and close, and the lock click as Kuroda left the room.

For several minutes, the cook kept perfectly still, baffled by what had just happened. Everything he knew about the doctor told him that the man should have taken advantage of his vulnerable state, but as time ticked by, Sanji experienced neither the rousing effects of a prophylactic nor the heavy drowsiness of an anesthetic. Instead, he laid still, his body trembling slightly despite the sheet that covered him. All of him, every last muscle, bone, tendon, and organ ached. His shoulders and arms, stiff from the hours they spent trapped behind and beneath him twinged and throbbed with even the smallest movement. It almost didn't feel right, having the appendages lying beside his body, and the cook almost considered rolling onto his side and repositioning them behind him. His pulse began to pound in his bloodied fingertips, reminding Sanji of the state of his hands.

It took a considerable amount of effort, but he managed to wrestle them free of his cover and raised them before his eyes. Truth be told, they weren't in as poor shape as he had expected. The chef's wrists were so discolored that they may as well have been broken, the previously pale skin now a curious blend of black, blue, purple, and green. There were several open sores as well, where one or more of the materials that had been used to bind him during his ordeal had rubbed his flesh away. Sanji turned his hands back and forth, studying them carefully. His palms seemed to be okay, as did his knuckles. The cook's fingers seemed to be the only really problems. As he further examined the bloodied digits with a clearer head, it occurred to him that, though they were tender and some a little swollen, his fingernails would likely grow back and that these were recoverable injuries. Sanji sighed, a small weight lifting from his shoulders and let his arms drop back onto the bed.

Sanji knew that the rest of his body hadn't fared so well. His feet, ankle, and back hurt so badly, and he didn't even want to think about his situation below the beltline. He hoped that Chopper would be able to fix the damage, and then grimaced as he thought of his friends. The cook swallowed hard and bit back tears. For all he knew, he could have been in that cell for weeks or months, and the other Straw Hats still hadn't arrived. It occurred to him that the Iron Fists' little island must be quite secluded, given that they had been able to build an entire compound at its center. The pirates seemed so at ease in their little patch of hell, as if they knew that they had to fear no intruder or invasion. Then it dawned on him. This was the Grand Line after all, and though the finer workings of a Log Pose were a bit of a mystery to him, he knew that each island had a different strength in its pull on the device. Perhaps this one was more difficult to find. He remembered seeing Standish playing with an Eternal Pose aboard the ship, and guessed that, without one of those, Nami and the others would have a difficult time navigating their way to his rescue.

It suddenly became startlingly clear that he was on his own. If he ever wanted to see his crewmates again, he would have to escape. Sanji huffed and ground his teeth together in determination. Now was as good of an opportunity as ever. He wasn't bound or drugged, and didn't seem to be guarded. And, in the highly likely event that he was caught again, the chef was sure that he could bait them into killing him quickly, effectively avoiding any more torture.

His mind made up, Sanji pulled the sheet away from his body, struggling a little as the fabric tangled around his legs. He had to rest for several seconds after achieving his first goal, marveling at how much harder the simple action had been given the state of his battered body. Perhaps this wasn't such a great plan.

The chef shook his head against the pillow. _Escape or die trying_, he told himself.

With his short grim personal pep talk out of the way, he moved on to the next considerably more difficult task of getting out of the bed. The cook found that simply sitting up was impossible, gasping as he strained the bruised muscles in his abdomen and his broken ribs ground together. After trying and failing several times, he chose to roll out of the bed, hoping desperately that it was low to the ground as he braced himself for impact. Sanji yelped when he landed on his side on the hard floor, the force of it vibrating throughout his entire body. He had to pause to rest once again, letting the fresh pain subside a little.

Luckily, the bed wasn't a high one, and Sanji was able to reach up and grasp the edge of the mattress while lying flat on his back. Using the furniture as leverage, the chef slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, sweat breaking out on his forehead and chest from the effort required. The small voice in the back of his mind chastised him again, telling him that he was in no shape for an escape attempt. But Sanji's fierce determination overruled the warning, and he gripped the bloodstained white sheets as he recovered his breath.

The cook tried his best not to look at the state of his manhood (though he winced when he caught sight of the irritated skin), but instead focused his attention on his legs and feet. The previously dangerous appendages were marred with cuts and bruises, many of the open wounds glistening dully as they wept vital fluids. But they still functioned. Sanji moved each one cautiously. The muscles were sore and stiff, but not in as poor a shape as the rest of him. His broken ankle and burned feet, however, were a problem. Had he only had to deal with one of the injuries, the chef was certain that he could have managed, but the combination of the two made it impossible for him to run or walk (or even hobble, for that matter). He glared at the useless body parts. He would have to crawl.

Resolutely setting his jaw, Sanji positioned his legs beneath him and began to move forward on his hands and knees. The going was rough, and his body shook from exertion. The cook found that he had to stop every few feet just to rest and allow his heart to calm its frantic beating. After what felt like hours of labor, he made it to the door of the infirmary, and paused a moment to lean against the wall. At this point, the second "or die trying" part of his escape plan seemed to be the more likely outcome, but he pushed the thought aside, choosing instead to trust in the very small hopeful part of him that still believed he could slip past his captors.

It was then that the door opened. Sanji cringed and silently pressed himself against the wall, planning to sneak out when whoever it was had fully entered the room. Doctor Kuroda ducked his head slightly as he walked into the small space, and then paused, frowning, when he saw the empty bed in the corner and the tangled sheet on the floor. His patient's path wasn't a hard one to follow, smeared blood and dirt marked his progress on the tile. The doctor turned as his eyes followed the trail, until his heavy-lidded gaze fell upon the blonde.

"Sanji-kun!" Kuroda seemed slightly surprised by this new development as he watched his patient pant from the exertion of crossing the small room. It only took a couple of the doctor's long legged strides to arrive where his patient sat. He crouched before the desperate would-be escapee, reaching out a helpful hand. "Sanji-kun, you should be in bed."

Clearly, it was time for phase two of Sanji's escape plan. The cook shot the doctor a venomous glare and slapped the hand away.

"Either help me escape or kill me, shitty doctor," snapped Sanji. "There's no way in hell I'm getting back in that bed."

An amused smile pulled at the corners of Kuroda's wide mouth, and had the chef had more time, he would have questioned the act. But it was not meant to be.

"You wish to die?" The silky voice sent shivers up Sanji's spine, and he felt irrational fear chip away at his determination as he slowly looked up. Saul grinned at his captive as he leaned against the doorframe. "That can be arranged."

Sanji recoiled from the Iron Fists' first mate, backing away from the man in much the same way as a wounded animal. He couldn't face being strapped to the Mechanic's metal table as he tested device after device on him, not again. He couldn't even bear the thought of it.

He didn't notice the furtive glare that Kuroda shot at his crewmate or the cocksure grin the plastered Saul's face in return, because just before the two pirates could begin to fight over their prey, Standish joined the odd scene with one of his subordinates in tow.

The Iron Fist captain's massive body crowded the already small space, and Sanji ground his back into the wall, as if hoping to melt into its rough plaster surface. The pirate merely raised an eyebrow at his cowering captive before addressing the strongest members of his crew.

"Good, you're both here." His tone was oddly matter-of-fact, devoid of its typical theatricality. The rational part of Sanji wondered what was going on as Standish waved over his subordinate, who the chef just then noticed was carrying a Mini Transponder Snail. The blonde took a moment to grimly marvel at the Iron Fists' sophisticated set up. They had been at this for quite some time. At Standish's prompting, the lowly pirate held up the receiver for his captain, who glared at Sanji as he spoke into the device. "Tell Saul here what you just told me."

"_W-We've been attacked,"_ answered the pirate at the other end. The man's voice came out a frightened whisper and echoed slightly, as if he were hiding. The frightened ruffian sobbed. _"I-I think all the others might be dead."_

"Yes, idiot, but _who_ attacked you?" growled Standish.

No answer came, and Sanji could see the Iron Fist captain start to get annoyed, his angry grumbling making the subordinate pirate take a cautionary step back. Then the Mini Transponder Snail began to emit strange sounds. The pirates and their captive heard a series of thumps, grunts, and a yelp, followed by what sounded like muffled arguing, and then—

"_Sandwich?"_

Sanji's heart jumped into his throat and his eyes grew to easily twice their size. He had all but convinced himself that he would never hear that voice again.

_Luffy. _

"Who is this?" barked Standish. The Iron Fist holding the Transponder Snail jumped backwards at least a foot at his captain's outburst.

There was a moment of silence where they could hear harried unintelligible discussion buzzing from the snail's mouth.

"_I'm Monkey D. Luffy. I want to talk to Sandwich."_

Saul snorted in amusement as they realized that the Straw Hat captain was referring to Standish. The Iron Fist captain frowned at the comical perversion of his name, locking a fierce glare on his captive, who remained frozen in stunned silence.

"This is Captain Standish," he rumbled in response.

"_Where's Sanji?!"_ The question came before the Iron Fist could even finish his sentence.

Standish bared his teeth in a cruel grin as Sanji met his gaze with wide eyes. He took the receiver from his subordinate, his attention never leaving the blonde's face as he spoke.

"Dead." He paused a moment to let the gravity of the word sink in. "He never made it off the ship."

Sanji's mouth dropped open at the blatant lie as he heard his crewmates react. There was a stunned gasp—that was probably Nami. _"N-No. No, that can't be true!"_—that was definitely Chopper.

The cook's heart and mind raced, his frantic thoughts working against him. Would his friends still come if they thought he was already dead? Was he truly alone now?

The Straw Hats' pain was palpable, even through the receiver of the Transponder Snail. Sanji saw the Iron Fist captain's cruel grin widen, and realized the man's true intention behind the lie.

Of course Luffy and the others would still come if they thought him dead, if only to avenge their fallen friend and his unrealized dream. Standish was well aware of this. He was using his captive's stunned silence as an opportunity to not only torture his already battered victim, but the crew that so desperately sought to rescue him.

Sanji's frightened glazed over stare darkened into a glare, his hatred for the bastard quieting all other common sense and emotion. Standish and his men had hurt him plenty. There was no way Sanji would let them cause his nakama anguish as well.

"You fucking bastard!" An angry breath hissed through the chef's clenched teeth. "Luffy! Nami! Everyone! Don't listen to him! I'm alive! I'm"—his words faltered as his raw emotions got the better of him and a sob hitched in his torn throat—"I'm right here!"

A collective sigh of relief echoed out of the Transponder Snail's mouth.

"_Sanji."_ The cook turned his rapt attention to the snail as he heard his captain speak. _"Sanji, hang on a little longer. We're coming for you."_

Sanji nodded silently, and Standish let out an angry guttural growl, annoyed that his control over the situation was slipping.

"You brats really don't know when to give up," he snarled into the receiver, gripping it so tightly that Sanji swore he could see the metal contorting. "I've said it once already, 'Give up on him. He's ours now.' Even if you go to the trouble to try to win him back, he's not the same. What's left of little Sanji-_chan_ isn't worth your effort."

"_I don't care," _Luffy's voice bit back, his tone uncharacteristically calm and firm in the way that never boded well for his enemies. _"He's my nakama."_

Saul laughed. "How quaint. Tell me, what use is _Black Leg_ Sanji if he can't even walk, let alone stand?"

"I can still cook, you shitty bastard!" yelled Sanji before anyone else had the chance to answer, turning a venomous glare on the first mate.

"Perhaps I was remiss in focusing my attention on your feet," smirked Saul, advancing a step on the still seated captive. Sanji thought he saw Kuroda twitch out of the corner of his eye. "That, of course, can be remedied."

A massive hand and equally muscled arm barred the first mate's path to his victim. Standish sneered down at the chef as he addressed his second-in-command, handing off the still active receiver of the Transponder Snail to the bald pirate.

"You've had your turn with him, Saul. Now it's mine."

Sanji shrank away from his captor, trying to scoot backwards on the tile floor while using the wall to support his exhausted body. He was beginning to shake from a mixture of fear and adrenaline, his fight-or-flight instincts screaming for him to flee. Then a long shadow fell over him as Kuroda stepped between the tormentor and tormented.

"My apologies, Captain-san, but I cannot allow violence within this room." The doctor's voice was laced with frustration and determination, all but completely obscuring its usual melodic qualities. "This is a place of _healing_, you see."

Standish frowned at his subordinate. He was getting tired of the Devil Fruit user's recent defiance. His famous hands clenched into their namesake fists as he bore down on the tall pirate.

"Step aside, Kuroda."

The doctor shifted his stance slightly and squared his shoulders, hoping to hide his nervousness. Intimidating mindless, bumbling Iron Fist underlings was one thing, trying to throw his weight around with the man himself was another matter entirely. His wide mouth curled into a confident smile.

"I am afraid I must insist, Captain."

"Have it your way."

The Iron Fist captain moved with greater speed than his bulk should have allowed. In the blink of an eye, his right hook connected with Kuroda's chin, sending the unsuspecting doctor flying across the small room. The wall's plaster façade cracked and flaked off upon impact, the small white pieces raining down on Kuroda as he landed in a tangle of long limbs on the floor, knocked unconscious by the surprise attack.

Standish stared at the doctor's crumpled form for a moment—he would finish dealing with the insubordinate pirate later—and then spun on his heel and advanced on his unguarded victim. Sanji tried his best to shuffle away from the Iron Fist captain, leaving fresh blood stains in his wake, but his broken body moved too slowly. The pirate reached down and easily grabbed a hold of his captive's blonde hair, lifting him until he no longer touched the ground. Sanji's mangled feet kicked feebly in the air and his fingers stung as he instinctively dug the bloodied digits into his abuser's wrist, trying desperately to break free. Standish gave his victim a rough shake, and the blonde cried out when he felt his scalp tear. He stilled his futile struggle in hopes of diminishing any further damage to his body. His friends were coming for him. He had to survive.

"What do you think, Sanji-chan? Should we give your _nakama_ a taste of what you've become?"

The word sounded dirty coming out of Standish's sneering mouth, and Sanji froze. He had forgotten that his friends were probably still listening. He could only imagine how they felt, hearing every agonizing moment with no way to stop what was happening. The cook fixed a pleading gaze upon his abuser.

"Please don't"—His voice shook as he begged.—"Please don't do this to them. Do whatever you want with me, but don't make them listen."

Standish grinned cruelly at his captive and slammed him against the wall, roughly bending the blonde's left arm behind his back. The chef winced at the pressure on his bruised skin.

"Tell me, is Nami-chan listening, by any chance?" he asked smoothly, turning his head to face the Transponder Snail so it could pick up his voice more easily.

Silence.

The pirate captain slowly began to twist his victim's arm, and Sanji yelped as he felt his shoulder and elbow pop and protest from the action.

"Nami-chan," he insisted, his voice sounding like that of a teacher trying to get the attention of the class.

"_I-I'm here."_ Sanji could hear the saddened tremor in her voice, and almost sighed in relief as he felt the pressure on his arm lessen.

"Can you be strong for Sanji-chan?" he asked, mocking the cook's begging from the night of his abduction. "No tears now."

Nami sniffed and then responded, _"Okay."_

"Good." Standish leaned in close, his breath hot and wet as he spoke into the captive chef's ear, his voice just barely loud enough so that the Transponder Snail picked up every word. "What do you think, Sanji-chan? Do you think she'll cry when she hears me break your arm?"

Sanji's eyes widened in terrified panic for a moment, and then crammed shut, a bloodcurdling scream ripping its way free of his lungs when the pirate gave his left arm a rough jerk. His shoulder gave out first, dislocating with a loud pop followed closely by his elbow and wrist. Another even more violent twist broke his arm with a deafening snap, the cook's shriek intensifying as his bones snapped like twigs under the brute force of Standish's incredible strength.

The Iron Fist captain continued his torture, making the shattered calcium grind together until his victim ceased to struggle beneath him. With a satisfied grin, he unceremoniously dropped the sobbing blonde to the tile floor. Sanji sagged against the wall and cried bitterly. His left arm, which now bent at odd angles in several places, hung pathetically at his side, destroyed and useless. Somewhere over the din of his ragged breathing and Saul's laughter, the cook could hear Luffy's angry growl.

"_Sanji, I know it's hard, but just hang on a little longer. We will save you. I promise."_

Sanji gulped and bit his lip, tasting fresh blood as he cut the tender flesh, as he tried to suppress his tears. Standish grinned and grabbed the cook's quivering chin, pulling his tear-streaked face towards his own.

"You didn't think we were done, did you?"

The blonde's body shuddered violently, and he began to shake his head from side to side, silently begging his captor not to do what he knew would come next. The Iron Fist captain's grin practically split his face in two as he grabbed his victim's right hand and lifted him from the floor once again. Sanji hung limply from his grasp, defeat sapping his little remaining strength.

"Please," begged the cook, "please not"—his pleading was cut short by the back of Standish's hand, the large knuckles colliding with his right eye, cheekbone, and nose, bruising and splitting the skin. Sanji yelped and then gasped for breath before renewing his pleas for mercy—"Please, anything but my hand."

"But I promised your captain that I'd break you," sneered Iron Fist, tightening his grip around the trapped appendage.

It took considerably less force to break the delicate bones in Sanji's hand, and he screamed as loudly as ever when he felt one finger after another crack, pop, and snap under the excruciating pressure of the pirate's iron grip. No amount of hope or determination or pure righteous anger could stop the fresh tears rolling down the cook's face when Standish finally relinquished his grip, still holding him several inches above the floor by his destroyed hand.

"_Sandwich,"_—Luffy's voice crackling through the Mini Transponder Snail eventually broke the silence that had permeated the room—"_you better be ready. When I get there, I'm taking you down."_

Standish's grin fell away at the genuine threat, and he raised his right fist, intending to take out his wrath on his helpless victim. The chef saw his friend's faces flash before his eyes, and remembered the wishes that he had made for them when cowering in his cell. He truly doubted that he would ever see them again. The pirate captain's famous fist described a wide arch as it closed in on the blonde, the woosh of displaced air from its decent heralding his oncoming doom. Just before the battle-hardened knuckles connected with his head, he took a shaking breath and uttered what he imagined would be his last words to his friends, hoping desperately that the Transponder Snail would pick up every quiet broken syllable.

"Luffy, Nami"—Sanji closed his eyes against the downswing, no longer wanting to see the brutal pirates in his last moments, but instead picturing the Thousand Sunny and its boisterous crew—"everyone…"

Iron Fist Standish's knuckles were inches away from connecting. Sanji resigned himself to his fate.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

Thanks so much to WhiteCourtain, XsummergreyX, and Wanderingidealism for your analyses of my villains. You certainly gave me some things to think about.

Anyway, about the long _long_ break between chapters...I started a new job last Wednesday (right after posting Chapter 13, I believe) and have been working from 7am to 7pm every single day since then, even both Sundays. My hours will continue like this through September 2. I try my hardest to write a little everyday, but I'm usually so exhausted that I can't concentrate. (I nearly fell asleep several times while proofing this chapter.)

On a related note, someone at work accidentally rammed my ankle with a pallet jack, so I've been hobbling around on it during my 70-80 hour work week. I believe this is called "Cosmic Justice".

Please review! I will try to get the next chapter out ASAP, but with my work schedule, every little bit of added motivation helps. I enjoy all kinds of reviews: short, long, fat, thin, in-between, positive...even the negative ones help me grow. I have also begun replying to them, as the conversation is so stimulating.

Also, if anyone else wants to take a stab at guessing Kuroda's Devil Fruit before it's officially revealed, there is a vital clue in this chapter. :)

Thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15, for your reading pleasure. I can't believe how long this story has gotten. I originally thought this would less than ten chapters. Anyway, on with the show.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

The Straw Hats listened in a stunned and horrified stupor as the sounds of their missing friend's torture spilled from the Transponder Snail's mouth, Sanji's screams made that much more chilling by their sharp contrast to the unusual device's impassive, deadpan expression.

Their battle against the Iron Fist raiding party had been a short one. They had spotted the small ship around the same time that their enemy had seen them, identifying the mark on their flag from the description on Standish's wanted poster. The Iron Fists had expected an easy victory, a mistake that they had paid for tenfold.

The enemy ship had fired upon the Sunny first, only to have the cannon ball redirected back toward them by Luffy's Gum Gum Balloon. Though the rubberman generally let incoming projectiles bounce off in any random direction, fate had set the iron on a truer course, the heavy ball striking and shattering the Iron Fists' mast. Before the other pirates even had a chance to react to the impact, the Straw Hat crew leapt into action. Luffy and Zoro were the first to board the attacking ship, dispatching half of its crew within mere moments as they simultaneously searched for and fought on behalf of their lost crewmate. Oddly enough, Nami and Chopper were the next to jump into the fray, leaving Usopp, Franky, and Robin to defend the Sunny. The normally more timid and wary pair had been particularly disturbed by Sanji's abduction, both of them having more knowledge of what the Iron Fists had done and were likely doing to him. They had wished desperately for him to be aboard that ship, and hadn't been able to stand to wait for their captain and first mate to return and report.

Zoro kept a watchful eye over the navigator and the doctor as he cut down one Iron Fist after another. The enemy pirates were slightly stronger than average, but they were still no match for the enraged Straw Hats. The swordsman found that even with Yubashiri sitting rusted and ruined in its scabbard at his hip, he could still easily fell his foes. He sliced open one ruffian and kicked his body over the rail into the sea, turning just in time to see Luffy barrel through a small crowd of pirates and head below deck. Within moments, Nami and Chopper followed after him, presumably to search for the cook, who was nowhere to be seen on deck.

It took the Straw Hat first mate a few mere minutes to finish off the last remaining Iron Fists, quickly sheathing Wado and Kitetsu when he was satisfied that any immediate threat had been eliminated. Looking across the deck, he could see Robin, Usopp, and Franky dispatching the few foes that had managed to board the Sunny. The sharpshooter made eye contact with him after knocking a pirate overboard, the unfortunate man's eyes red and watering from the Tobasco Star that had nailed him in the face. Zoro waved at him and indicated that they had won their fight with a grim thumbs-up and then his intention to go below deck through some impressively exaggerated sign language. Usopp responded in kind and the swordsman eventually rolled his eyes at his crewmate's unintelligible pantomiming, and headed below deck.

The Iron Fists' raiding ship was a small one, not much bigger than the Going Merry had been, and its layout below deck was simple, but it still took Zoro several minutes to locate his crewmates. When he finally found the hidden (not really) storage room, he was met by the sight of Luffy, Nami, and Chopper huddled around a Transponder Snail, and an unconscious Iron Fist pirate, with a rather impressive swelling growing from his forehead, near the door. Nami looked extremely pale and as if she were about to throw up. Chopper's entire body was shaking, and the swordsman could see tears blurring the reindeer's brown eyes. And Luffy…Luffy was livid. The Straw Hat first mate didn't think he had ever seen his captain look so furious. He was about to ask his friends what was going on, when he heard an unmistakable, familiar laugh slide out of the snail's mouth.

"_How quaint."_—Zoro scowled and growled low, drawing his crewmates' attention briefly before they refocused on the Transponder Snail. _Saul._—_"Tell me, what use is _Black Leg _Sanji if he can't even walk, let alone stand?"_

The Straw Hats visibly recoiled at the comment, but any other response was cut short by Sanji's outburst.

"_I can still cook, you shitty bastard!"_

The swordsman couldn't help but to smile grimly. The cook was alive. Not only that, he had enough fight left in him to swear at Saul the Mechanic. Zoro had just barely been able to detect a tremor of fear in his crewmate's voice, but his blonde counterpart was still biting back at his captors in spite of it. The ero-cook let a lot of unnecessary things rule his head (women, cigarettes, women, cooking, women, his emotions…oh, and also women) but fear had never been one of them.

"_Perhaps I was remiss in focusing my attention on your feet."_ Saul's silky condescending voice wiped any traces of humor from Zoro's face. The muscles in his back and shoulders tensed at the remark, and he saw Luffy's grip tighten around the receiver. _"That, of course, can be remedied."_

Nami shot Zoro a slightly panicked look, and he knew that she had been able to read his less than impassive expression like an open book. So, it was confirmed. Saul had tortured Sanji. And he had, apparently, taken the cook's ability to walk. The navigator shuddered right around the same time that Zoro's frown deepened, the same question probably biting at her mind. Just what had they done to Sanji's feet?

"_You've had your turn with him, Saul. Now, it's mine."_

The swordsman raised an eyebrow at the new voice, and shot Nami a quizzical look. The redhead had gone deathly pale once again, and mouthed one word in response.

_Standish._

Zoro crossed his arms and glared at the Transponder Snail. So this was the voice of the man who had invaded their home, tortured the cook in his own kitchen and kidnapped him, and psychologically traumatized Nami to the point that she still woke multiple times every night from the horrific memories.

"_My apologies, Captain-san, but I cannot allow violence within this room."_—All of the present Straw Hats gave each other confused looks at the same time, none of them recognizing the odd singsong voice that was jumping to the cook's defense.—_"This is a place of _healing, _you see."_

Chopper cocked his head to the side and frowned at the comment, shuffling a little closer to the protective first mate for comfort. Zoro could almost hear the gears whirring at lightning speed within the intelligent reindeer's head as he tried to make sense of the odd statement.

"_Step aside, Kuroda."_

So, the mystery savior had a name. Each Straw Hat silently cheered the newcomer on.

"_I am afraid I must insist, Captain."_ Kuroda's voice sounded more serious, and he had dropped his former politeness.

"_Have it your way."_

The Straw Hats heard a distinctive crack that could only be made by a fist connecting with a head, and then a dull thud. Silence permeated the small storage space as the pirates realized with dread that their captive friend's only defender had been violently removed from the situation. The uncomfortable quiet didn't last long, and Zoro saw Nami and Chopper flinch when they heard Sanji's strangled yelp.

"_What do you think, Sanji-chan? Should we give your _nakama _a taste of what you've become?"_

Standish's cruel mocking of the sacred word made Zoro's blood boil, and from Luffy's white knuckle grip on the snail's receiver, it was clear his captain felt the same. And then the Straw Hats heard something they had never thought they would hear from their normally short-fused, foul-mouthed comrade: begging.

"_Please don't"_—The ero-cook's voice shook with a mixture of fear and submissiveness that was entirely unnatural for him. Zoro's hand instinctively moved to rest on Wado's hilt.—_"Please don't do this to them. Do whatever you want with me, but don't make them listen."_

His grip around the sword tightened to the point that the leather and cord that bound it dug painfully into his calloused palm. Zoro's eyes met Luffy's in a moment of silent, enraged understanding. They were going to make the Iron Fists pay.

"_Tell me, is Nami-chan listening, by any chance?" _queried Standish.

Nami clamped a shaking hand over her mouth, just barely suppressing a terrified gasp. Her eyes had grown to twice their size the moment the Iron Fist captain said her name, and Zoro could almost see the nightmarish memories of her last encounter with the man playing on a loop behind her eyes. They heard Sanji's painful yelp, the sound making the Transponder Snail's face contort slightly, and the navigator's shoulders began to shake as she desperately fought back tears.

"_Nami-chan."_ Standish's voice was more insistent.

All eyes were on the redhead as she struggled to compose herself, taking several deep breaths and swallowing hard before attempting to talk into the receiver.

"I-I'm here."

"_Can you be strong for Sanji-chan?"_

Nami recoiled at the question, looking as if she had just been stricken, and Zoro realized that Standish must be making some sort of sick inside joke.

"_No tears now."_

The other three Straw Hats watched in mute horror as their navigator pulled herself together, her emotions retreating to somewhere safe deep inside. Zoro couldn't help but to wonder at how much his crewmate had had to practice such a skill. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, drying them to the same blank glassy stare that her friends had encountered the morning after Sanji's abduction.

"Okay."

"_Good."_

The single syllable, delivered in the Iron Fist's deep rumble, sent shivers up the Straw Hats' spines.

"_What do you think, Sanji-chan? Do you think she'll cry when she hears me break your arm?" _The question was asked quietly, as if in a whisper, but they heard every single word.

Luffy's hands began to shake, and Chopper pressed himself against Zoro's leg. And then came the screaming. The sound that ripped its way out of the Transponder Snail was high and loud and should never have been made by any human being, least of all the cook. Zoro felt Chopper's hooves dig into his skin through the fabric of his pants, the hard little appendages cutting into his leg. But the first mate remained still, allowing his crewmate to press himself closer to his body. He felt the little doctor wince when they heard the pop of the cook's shoulder dislocating, and tears wet the fabric over his calf at the succession of loud cracks that indicated that Sanji's arm had been broken.

They could hear the cook crying, and Zoro watched as a myriad of emotions flashed across his captain's face. Luffy's eyes swam with suppressed tears as righteous anger, profound sadness, agonizing loss, and cruel impotence fought for control. The Straw Hat captain's features finally settled back to their previous furious frown as Saul's laughter echoed over Sanji's pathetic sobbing.

"Sanji, I know it's hard, but just hang on a little longer," Luffy half ordered, half comforted. He locked a determined stare on his first mate. "We will save you. I promise."

Sanji's tears seemed to subside at his captain's vow, but—

"_You didn't think we were done, did you?"_

Zoro could have sworn he could hear the sickening plop of his and his friend's hearts hitting the floor. He wasn't sure who the taunt was meant for, but knew from the cook's terrified begging that he couldn't take much more.

"_Please, please not"_—There was a loud smacking sound, shortly followed by Sanji yelping and gasping for air.—_"Please, anything but my hand."_

"_But I promised your captain that I'd break you."_

Each breath hissed loudly as it exited from between Luffy's clenched teeth, but the noise was easily drowned out by his friend's renewed screaming. Nami once again clamped her hands over her mouth in a desperate attempt to hold back tears and to keep from throwing up. Chopper's shoulders shook as he muffled his sobbing in Zoro's legs, prompting the swordsman to place his free hand protectively on the reindeer's hat. When the cook's screaming finally subsided, dying away once again to heartwrenching, broken crying, the Straw Hat captain raised the receiver to his mouth and addressed his enemy.

"Sandwich, you better be ready. When I get there, I'm taking you down."

If there was one thing that Luffy was known for, it was his brutal, unswaying honesty. What the pirate captain said to Standish wasn't a threat, or even merely a promise. It was a solemn, heartfelt vow. Iron Fist would not survive his encounter with Straw Hat. That much was a certainty.

Standish must have gotten the message, because his anger suddenly seemed to radiate from the snail. The Straw Hats all tensed, unsure of what would happen next. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. They could feel it.

"_Luffy, Nami…everyone…" _They focused their hearts, minds, hopes, and wishful thinking on the small sound of Sanji's broken voice. _"I'm sorry."_

There was an incredibly loud crack, and Nami screamed, and Chopper began to wail loudly, and they could hear the thunderous rumble of Standish laughing, and then, suddenly, there was silence. Zoro's ears buzzed from the unexpected lack of auditory stimuli, and he quickly searched the room for some new threat before he realized what had happened.

In his rage, Luffy had crushed the Transponder Snail's receiver in his hand, causing the device to shut down. Stunned by the development, Nami and Chopper had instantly quieted and watched as their captain fought not to lose sight of himself in his haze of hate, sadness, and anger. The first mate patiently waited for his captain to compose himself, one hand still gripping Wado's hilt and the other resting protectively on top of Chopper's hat. He could feel both quivering beneath his touch. Chopper fought back tears and hiccupped occasionally when the salty liquid caught in his throat. Wado Ichimoni, usually the most peaceful and placid of his three swords, was reacting to the emotions seething within its master. The Iron Fists hadn't simply harmed one of Zoro's crew, but every single member, and the steadfast white blade at his hip was as eager to rectify the situation as he was.

* * *

When the four invading Straw Hats finally composed themselves and Luffy had relinquished his death grip on the pulverized receiver, they returned to their ship with exhausted trudging steps. Franky and Usopp cheered, and Robin smiled when they first caught sight of them, but any signs of celebration rapidly subsided when the foursome stepped onto the grassy deck. Their drawn tired expressions and battle-wearied postures made it obvious that they hadn't found their missing friend. As a matter of fact, Usopp was quick to note, Luffy, Zoro, Nami, and Chopper looked defeated, not at all as if they had just easily won against a ship full of pirates.

The moment that they boarded the Sunny, Nami sank to the deck and buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently with emotion. The sharpshooter looked at her, his face contorted with confusion, and then recoiled when he glanced up and saw Luffy and Zoro's dangerously darkened expressions. The two most powerful Straw Hats were out for blood.

"What happened?" asked Robin as she knelt beside Nami and placed a comforting hand on the navigator's trembling shoulders. The question was directed at all four of the returning Straw Hats, but she locked her deep blue perceptive gaze on her captain.

"W-We found one of them hiding," Chopper relayed after several minutes of silence. He still clung to Zoro's leg, and his bleary brown eyes betrayed the little doctor's profound sadness. The reindeer sniffed, causing a small line of snot that had been dripping from his nose to disappear. "He…He had a Transponder Snail and he was talking to Standish and they—and they—they…"

Chopper burst into tears and ran from his place behind Zoro to leap into Usopp's arms. The surprised sharpshooter caught him with only a little difficulty, having to drop into a kneeling position to accommodate the reindeer's weight. His heart froze as he felt his friend's tears soak his bare shoulder.

"What _happened_?" he reiterated.

Zoro scowled at the question, and Luffy balled his hands into shaking fists. The other Straw Hats waited for an answer, but it was hard to be patient when their friends were obviously seriously disturbed by whatever had happened aboard the Iron Fists' ship.

"They tortured him," Nami finally said. Her voice was hollow and tired, and Usopp felt a chill run up his spine at its unnatural sound. The navigator sniffed and continued. "They tortured him while we listened, and we couldn't do anything to help him."

The Straw Hats lapsed into another uncomfortable silence as the most recent events sank in. Hopelessness clawed at Usopp's chest as he tried his best to comfort Chopper. They had been sailing aimlessly for two weeks in search of their friend. The Iron Fists' raiding ship was the best lead that they had had since those two marines, but rather than bringing them closer to Sanji, it had just further cemented the insurmountable odds against them. The sharpshooter sighed, feeling moisture blur his vision as he wrapped his arms more tightly around his furry crewmate. He missed Sanji desperately. The cook was the one who would have been calm in this kind of situation. He always seemed to know just what to say to put his crewmates on the right path, something that each of them sorely needed at the moment.

The bright afternoon sun bounced off of the grassy deck, its light, coupled with his tears, temporarily blinding the sharpshooter. The longnose crammed his eyes shut to hide away from the sharp rays when a thought occurred to him. Light wasn't that bright when it reflected off of grass.

Usopp's eyes snapped open, and he jumped to his feet, dropping Chopper in the process. The reindeer made a startled sound, his tears momentarily forgotten, as he and his crewmates watched the sharpshooter cross the Sunny's deck seemingly in search of something. It didn't take Usopp's sharp vision long to spot the small object lying in the grass, and he bent to retrieve it with an excited "aha!".

"What is it, Usopp?" asked Chopper, wiping his nose and eyes as he stood.

"You won't believe what one of those idiots just so happened to drop." The sharpshooter's voice and body trembled with excitement. He whirled on his expectant crewmates, his find clasped tightly in his outstretched hand. The sunlight bounced off of the rounded glass, making the Eternal Pose shine with an unearthly hopeful radiance. Usopp grinned determinedly. "There's only one place this thing can be pointing."

Once realization of just what their crewmate had found dawned on the other grief-stricken Straw Hats, it didn't take long for them to feel hope swell in their chests. Franky's eyes welled up with tears of joy, Robin managed a small smile, Chopper tackled Usopp to the ground with a desperate hug, Nami gasped, and Zoro smirked. For the first time in days, the pirates saw their captain's face light up with a joyful grin. They knew where that steady needle pointed. _To Sanji._

"SUPER job, Usopp-bro!" cried Franky, thumping the long-nosed teen so hard on the back that he nearly fell over after having just gotten back up.

"Be careful with that!" yelled Nami, having regained some of her old fire. She rushed over and rescued the delicate device from her now dancing crewmates.

Huffing with amused annoyance, the navigator studied the Eternal Pose with shaking hands. She had guessed that they were close to an island, based off of the severe storms that they had passed through the day before. The needle pointed unwaveringly in the direction they had been heading, confirming her suspicions. Looking up, Nami eagerly scanned the horizon. Her heart sank. Nothing. Her shoulders slumped and then immediately perked up as something caught her eye.

A tiny darkened speck, barely noticeable, broke the thin blue line.

Running over, Nami grabbed a hold of Usopp's arm and pulled him to the edge of the ship, causing him to shout in surprise as he was pulled away from his boisterous dancing with Luffy and Chopper. The sharpshooter held up his hands and struggled in his crewmate's grip, barely managing a confused "O-Oi, Nami?" before the navigator positioned him facing in the right direction and pulled the magnifier lenses of his goggles over his eyes. Finally catching on to what the redhead wanted, Usopp frowned and hummed as he scanned the horizon. Then, like Nami before him, he perked up and gasped.

"Guys. Hey, guys!" he yelled, drawing the collective attention of the rest of the crew. "There's an island out there!"

Luffy reached the prow of the ship in a few bounding leaps, quickly positioning himself on the Sunny's lion-shaped figurehead. He shaded his eyes from the harsh sunlight with his hand, his newly reclaimed grin widening beyond what should have been humanly possible.

"Set sail for that island!" He knew he didn't have to give the order, his friends were already steering the ship that way, but he said the words anyway. Behind him, Luffy could feel the Straw Hat Pirates' hopes, fears, and determination roll off of them in waves as they sped toward Sanji's rescue.

* * *

Thanks to everyone for their lovely reviews and well-wishes while I slave away at my new job. Thanks to all of you for being so patient!

In any fanfic I write, I inevitably end up trying to set up the plot in much the same way as if it were cannon. In the case of OP, we have the overarching story divided up into mini-archs. So far, we've had the Capture Arch and the Torture Arch. Now, we begin the Rescue Arch, which I'm very excited to write. It promises to be action-packed and suspenseful.

I know this chapter was kind of short-ish, but I didn't want it to get too obscenely long like the last one. I also have the next two days off (my first since starting my new job.) I intend to put out at least one new chapter then, as well as start on some other projects. :)

As always, please review! What do you think will happen when the Straw Hats reach the Nameless Island? I love reading everyone's speculations.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16. Let the invasion begin.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

It seemed to take forever for that dark little spot on the horizon to grow, and the stifling heat didn't help. As soon as the Sunny drew close enough for the island to be visible with the naked eye, the Straw Hats were hit by the seemingly impenetrable wall of heat and humidity. Already exhausted by two weeks of stress, sorrow, and malnutrition, the pirates' newly regained good moods soured, their hope dampened by the sticky haze that hung over the ship.

"It's hotter than Hell here," complained Franky as he steered the ship towards the ever growing speck. His normally upright blue hair flopped to the side, dripping with perspiration.

"I'm pretty sure Hell has a nice dry heat," Usopp countered, panting as he double checked his ammo. The water was fairly calm, and the Straw Hats were taking the opportunity to prepare themselves for battle.

The cyborg gave a semi-amused snort in response, and gulped at a bottle of soda. He had made sure to restock his supply once they were underway in hopes of avoiding running out of fuel in the heat of battle.

"It's so hot!" whined Chopper as he staggered up the steps and collapsed against Usopp's back. The sharpshooter twitched as he felt the reindeer's fur stick to his sweaty skin, the little doctor's body heat quite unwelcome against his own. Chopper let his tongue hang out of his mouth. "Who would ever want to come here?"

"Someone who doesn't want to be found," growled Zoro from his seat in the shade of the railing. His dark observation drew the attention of the rest of the crew, and fresh tension lingered in the air.

"We need to have a plan," Nami finally remarked. She looked at all of her friends in turn. "They caught us off guard last time, and we won't have the element of surprise when we attack. Not after…" She drifted off, frowning as she remembered the sounds of Sanji being tortured coming from the Transponder Snail. "Anyway, we need a plan."

"I'm going to take Sandwich down." Luffy's voice was so serious, it was almost comical.

His crew simultaneously locked him with deadpan stares, their answer coming in unison, "That's not a plan."

"Well, we know that they like to use human shields," observed Robin. She gave Nami a sympathetic look when she saw the navigator flinch. "Perhaps it would be best if we stuck together in order to avoid such a scenario."

"I don't know," muttered Usopp, doubt creasing his brow. "Remember Enies Lobby? I don't think we should count on all sticking together as one big group. Besides, Luffy will probably run ahead as soon as we land."

The Straw Hats sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment as they contemplated the battle to come. They had no idea what to expect from the small inky blotch on the horizon, or what they would find when they landed. Each of them desperately hoped that their foes wouldn't be too entrenched and, most of all, that their missing friend was still alive.

"Maybe we should spit into groups," mused Nami, as much to herself as to the others. She looked up from the pieces of her Climatact sitting in her lap. "We can cover more ground that way."

The others nodded in silent grim agreement. The faster that they located Sanji, the better. Luffy grinned and clapped his hands together, in total support of Nami's plan.

"Alright! So, I'll go after Sandwich," he said, rocking back and forth as he put the final touches on their very loosely formed scheme, "Robin and Franky will be a group, and then Usopp and Chopper, and last, Nami and Zoro."

"No." The swordsman nixed his captain's idea before his sentence had even finished. Zoro frowned and crossed his arms. "I'll be going after Saul. I have to do it alone."

His crewmates lapsed into another short silence. With all of the focus on Standish, they had nearly forgotten about the Iron Fists' equally brutal first mate, who Zoro apparently had some sort of secret history with. Chopper furrowed his brow and clicked his hooves together thoughtfully as he remembered the voices that had accompanied Sanji's. He had tried and failed several times to picture their owners' faces, coming up blank or with those of monsters every time. The reindeer could only imagine what Zoro's nightmares (which still plagued every single one of his naps) must be like, if they centered on the man that belonged to that awful, cruel, silky voice. The sounds of Saul's drawl and Standish's deep rumble still echoed in his furry ears, sending shivers up and down his spine. And then there was Kuroda's strange singsong that so confused him. The doctor didn't know what to make of the third Iron Fist. Speaking of…

"What about the other one?" asked Chopper. He felt Usopp shudder as he perked up, causing his fur to peel away from the sharpshooter's sweaty back.

Robin, Franky, and Usopp gave him confused looks, and the others' expressions darkened. What about Sanji's mystery would-be savior?

"What other one?" Usopp finally asked, turning so he faced his friend. His grip tightened around his bag of ammo, and he instinctively reached for Kabuto. "You mean, there was a third one?"

Chopper nodded his head with an enthusiastic "mhmm!", the force of the action causing his ears to flop against his hat. "He sounded like he was trying to help Sanji."

Nami nodded thoughtfully. It had sounded like this Kuroda, whoever he was, had stepped in to try to save their friend from harm, however unsuccessful he had been. The navigator couldn't help but to wonder what his motives had been.

"What happened to him?" asked Usopp. Something must have gone wrong, given his crewmates' defeated expressions after their encounter with the raiding ship. The four Straw Hats that had been present for Sanji's torture frowned at the question.

"It sounded like Standish knocked him out," Nami finally answered.

Robin raised her eyebrows in an expression of slight shock. "Could he have been another prisoner?"

"I doubt it," grumbled Zoro, furrowing his brow as he too tried to make sense of the Iron Fist pirate's actions. "He called that Standish bastard, 'Captain'."

"Could the Iron Fists be infighting?" wondered the archeologist aloud.

"I don't know." The Straw Hats gave Chopper their undivided attention upon hearing his mumbled statement. The reindeer scratched his head underneath his hat as he recalled the exact words spoken by Kuroda. After a few minutes, he looked up to meet their expectant gazes. "I think he may have been the ship's doctor."

Franky, Luffy, Usopp, and Nami uttered a stunned, simultaneous "What?", and Robin and Zoro both frowned.

"Think about it," explained the reindeer, "he said that they were in a place of _healing_, and that he wouldn't 'allow any violence in that room'. Only a doctor would say something like that." The Straw Hat doctor nodded, almost completely convinced of his theory. "It makes sense. Especially with how badly injured Sanji would have been after…"

He drifted off midsentence and cast a sorrowful gaze across the deck to the closed door of the galley, prompting the other Straw Hats to do the same. Upon learning what the bloodstained fragment that Nami had been grasping following Sanji's abduction was, the pirates had hung the strip of canvas above the door to the kitchen. It served as both a reminder of what had happened, driving the tight-knit crew to stay focused, and as a guiding beacon for their friend to return home. The brilliant sunlight caught the torn piece of apron as it fluttered in the slight breeze, and they could just barely make out the "-cook" written across the top. Chopper sniffed and wiped at a single tear as it rolled down his cheek. If the Iron Fists had a doctor that seemed to genuinely care for Sanji, then perhaps there was some hope for the missing chef's survival after all.

"Do you think he needs our help?" asked Franky, breaking the heavy saddened silence that had fallen over the crew. "He _is_ on the enemy crew."

"He tried to help Sanji," said Luffy with an unusual amount of force. "That's enough for me. If he needs help, we'll give it to him."

The Straw Hats nodded their silent agreement, and refocused their attention on the ever-growing dot on the horizon, whose wide black beach was just coming into view. Quite suddenly, the Sunny shuddered violently, and the pirates heard an awful grating sound come from the hull. They immediately jumped to their feet and ran to the rail, hoping to see what they had hit.

"Shit!" Nami swore bitterly. "It's a reef!"

Instantly regaining some of her authority (which had been forgotten in the wake of Sanji's torture and abduction), the navigator began to expertly order the crew accordingly. The initial impact with the wide entanglement of reefs seemed to be exactly what the Straw Hats needed to snap them from their depressed reveries and spring into action. With the practiced movements of countless hours of experience, the pirate crew easily picked their way through the maze of coral that threatened the peel off the bottom of their beloved ship. Soon, they were within clear view of the island, able to see the black quartz beach and the thick jungle that lay beyond it in stunning detail. Nami frowned and shielded her eyes from the harsh sun as she searched for a safe place to drop anchor. They were approaching the island from the south, and there was only one desirable route in sight, leading around to the west side of the small land mass. Around her, she could see her crewmates sweating profusely as they labored in the intense heat, and ran to Chopper's aid when she saw the reindeer begin to collapse from the stress.

"It looks like there might be a sand bar on the west side!" she yelled at the rest as she cradled the panting doctor in her lap. The reindeer looked up at her in silent apology, unable to speak as he gasped for air in the overwhelming temperature. The navigator looked down at her furry crewmate with concern, only turning away when she heard Zoro swear loudly.

There was indeed a sandbar just off of the west beach, and the Iron Fists had found it first. Coming into clear view as the Sunny rounded the southwestern tip of the island were two ships, both flying the enemy pirates' flag. One was a smaller vessel, even more diminutive than the raiding ship they had encountered earlier that day. The little ship rocked gently in the water, completely shaded by the massive galleon parked beside it. Nami's eyes widened in shock and several of the other Straw Hats' mouths dropped open. Standish's flag ship was enormous.

"Dammit," Zoro swore again. They would have no choice but to drop anchor beside the enemy ship. The entire world seemed to grind to a halt as the Sunny drew level with the Iron Fists' ship, both crews completely silent in the calm before the inevitable storm. The swordsman pulled Wado and Kitetsu from their sheaths as they pulled alongside the galleon's starboard side and lowered the paw-shaped anchor. He narrowed his eyes when he caught a flash of movement on the other side. "Prepare for battle!"

The Straw Hats needed no urging from their first mate, his orders drowned out by the loud blasts of the Iron Fists firing upon the Thousand Sunny. They had faced ships this size before and immediately leapt into action. Luffy jumped from the grassy deck, easily deflecting three cannon balls, sending the heavy iron projectiles hurdling back toward their enemy. One flew harmlessly over the deck of the galleon, crashing with a resounding splash into the shallow water; the other two, however, found their new target, one ball striking and shattering the crow's nest, and the other completely obliterating the captain's quarters above deck. Zoro quickly and seamlessly followed suit, slicing another two in half before they could strike their ship. The fragments wizzed by the swordsman, whistling as they ripped through the humid air before landing on the grassy deck in a succession of dull thuds. Unfortunately, two out of three were not enough to perfectly guard the Sunny, and the captain and first mate both spun to face the aft of their ship, looks of stunned horror contorting their faces as they heard Nami and Chopper scream in panic.

Sanji's absence had left a glaring hole in their defenses, and a cannon ball that should have been deflected by the Red Leg Martial Artist's powerful kick had made contact with the side of the upper deck, its angle causing the iron to tear through the port-facing wall of the infirmary, all but destroying the small room, before exploding out of the back of the ship. Chopper wailed, large tears completely obstructing his vision, and he clutched at Nami's legs as he watched the carefully inventoried medical supplies that hadn't been propelled into the ocean by the force of the blast burn in a rapidly growing blaze. Franky and Usopp were quick to run to their aid, fighting desperately to douse the fire before it could consume the adjoining kitchen and dining room, but the damage had been done. Zoro felt his heart fall into his stomach. When they found the cook, whatever his condition, the Straw Hat doctor would have nothing to treat him with.

Growling with new determination, the swordsman launched himself at the Iron Fists' ship, landing on the deck with ease as he began to cut down every enemy pirate in his path. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Luffy doing the same, the enraged rubberman knocking dozens of the ruffians overboard with his Gum Gum Gatling Gun. Soon Robin and Usopp had joined the fray, and the Straw Hat first mate just barely heard the archeologist mutter "clutch", smiling grimly as he watched her Flower Flower Fruit attack snap the necks and spines of several Iron Fists.

Meanwhile, Usopp sprinted below deck, his usual fear and hesitation forgotten in light of his fury. His impeccable aim felled every member of the oncoming horde as he made his way through the maze of hallways and rooms until he had finally reached the bottommost level of the massive galleon. Stepping hurriedly into a large unguarded storage room that ran the length of the ship, the sharpshooter pulled brick after brick of explosives from his bag. Having foreseen the possibility of such a scenario, he had prepared several powerful bombs. Running along what he guessed to be the outer wall, the longnosed teen carefully laid each timed weapon against the weakest joints in the vessel's construction, being sure to uncoil copious amounts of fuse as he went. Finally satisfied that his self-assigned job was completed, Usopp backed up to the entrance and prepared himself to flee. Then, frowning with grim determination, he lit the wick and ran like hell.

Several Iron Fists attempted to block his escape, but the sharpshooter paid them little heed as he barreled through the narrow hallways, desperately seeking the deck of the ship. He sighed in relief when he met open air and saw his friends winning their battle against the enemy pirates. Putting his pinky fingers between his lips, Usopp whistled, drawing his crewmates' attention with the sharp noise.

"Get back to the Sunny!" he yelled over the din of the battle, waving his arms to further emphasize the point. He saw Luffy and Zoro give him confused looks, their heads tipping to the side in unison. Robin, however had gotten the point, and she was already sprinting for the railing with the first of the bombs went off.

The already large explosion prompted the others to ignite, and the concussive force of the blast made the galleon the pitch violently in the water, causing its occupants to fall to their knees. Deafening ringing filled the sharpshooter's ears, and the hair on his skin stood on end as he felt a tidal wave of heat fly up from below deck, painfully singeing his skin.

"A little warning would have been nice!" yelled Zoro, his voice barely able to be heard over the cacophony of noise, as he yanked Usopp to his feet and dragged him to the edge of the ship. The two Straw Hats just barely registered the feeling of their captain's rubberized arm wrapping around them as they were slingshotted back to the grassy deck of their own ship. Their feet met the welcoming green carpet, and the first mate had just enough time to do a quick head count, sighing with relief as he realized that all of them were safe, before the final bombs went off.

The Straw Hats watched as the explosion tore a hole the size of the Going Merry in the hull of the enemy ship. Smoke billowed from gaping maw, and the surviving Iron Fists quickly gave up fighting the growing inferno, opting instead to abandon ship. Usopp's plan had been well-hatched, and they soon realized that his bombs had not only taken out the Iron Fists' galleon, but the smaller ship anchored beside it as well. Grim silence rang in the Straw Hats' ears in spite of the roar of the fire and the screams of its victims as the enemy ship sank to the bottom of the reef, the suction of the massive sinking vessel taking down any surviving Iron Fists with it. They were one step closer to saving their friend, their nakama. They would get Sanji back, no matter what it took.

The small pirate crew stood in grim quiet vigil until they were certain that the enemy at the sandbar had been vanquished and that the Sunny would be safe in their absence. As they went below deck to board the Mini Merry II in order to invade the island, Usopp caught sight of Chopper. Tears silently streamed down the doctor's face as he observed the wreckage that remained of his infirmary, the hole left in the outer wall giving a clear view of the destruction within. The wooden walls were completely blackened, and the furniture inside had been reduced to smoldering piles of ash. Many of the medical books that Chopper had collected during their journey had been lost as well; and the few stray pages that had been spared from the fire floated in the breeze kicked up by the battle, the weak air currents carrying the knowledge laden bits of paper out to sea. The sharpshooter frowned, unsure of how to comfort his friend, when Zoro passed him and stood before the reindeer.

"No time for tears," growled the first mate, crossing his arms and scowling as he looked down at his whimpering crewmate. "Find the cook first, and then worry about the details."

Usopp opened his mouth to chastise the swordsman. This was no time for harsh words. But anything he might have said in Chopper's defense caught in his throat as the doctor composed himself, swallowing his bitter tears and nodding determinedly. Zoro was right, the sharpshooter realized as he followed his friends below deck. At present, there was nothing to be done for the wrecked infirmary, and the minutes on Sanji's life were ticking down. _If he's not already dead._ Usopp frowned at the thought and tried his best to cast it away, though his doubt lingered, eating away at his resolve like a cancer.

As the Straw Hats set out for the island in the miniaturized version of the Going Merry, they each briefly looked back at the scene of their most recent victory. Standish's flag ship had nearly disappeared beneath the surface of the calm water, only the tips of the crossbeams of the mast and foremast had escaped being submerged. None of them cheered or laughed or even smiled as they watched bubbles and bodies rise from the wreckage. They had won, but the cost hung heavy on their hearts.

One by one, each pirate turned to face the approaching island with its hellish beach and darkened jungle, grim determination settling over them like some sort of protective barrier as they thought of their friend and the fierce battle to come.

* * *

Sorry for the short-ish chapter, guys. In hindsight, this probably should have been combined with the one before it. Originally, this one and the next one were going to be all one long chapter, but I split them to keep from ending up with another mega-chapter and so it wouldn't be so long between updates. (I didn't want to make all of you wait for a whole two weeks **again**.) On the bright side, that means that Chapter 17 is half written. Yay!

Also, I really wanted to build the tension before we reached the climax of the story. I want to keep you guys on the edge of your seats, wondering what will happen next, just like Oda's brilliant storytelling does. I hope I'm getting at least a little close. *nervous laugh*

On a slightly related note, in researching for this chapter, I came across the blueprints that Oda drew of the Thousand Sunny. May I say...HOLY CRAP. So much detail. This guy is seriously, like, the Tolkien of manga. Do a google image search of "Thousand Sunny", you'll see what I mean.

As always, please review. They bring me so much joy. :)


	17. Chapter 17

I promised you a long chapter, and here it is. A reminder, just because I haven't done it in awhile...

This story is rated M.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

The wide black beach was deserted when the Mini Merry II landed, and the heat rippling over its hellish expanse hit the Straw Hats like a brick wall, making the small pirate crew's shoulders slump under its oppressive weight. Nami did her best to swallow her concern as she saw Chopper leaning heavily on Usopp, the winter island doctor clearly suffering in the boiling temperature. The sharpshooter's determination impressed the redhead. Based off of his drawn together eyebrows and the sweat on his upper lip, Nami could tell that her friend was suffering from an especially strong case of his "If I Go Any Further Into This Island, I'll Die" Disease, but that he was very bravely fighting his instinctual urge to run in the other direction. Usopp's part in sinking the Iron Fists' ship had been particularly impressive, and the navigator couldn't help but to marvel at how far her friend had come from the cowering would-be pirate and town liar that she had first met in Syrup Village. She clenched her fists and took a deep bracing breath as they stepped into the darkened jungle. If the Straw Hats' resident coward could soldier on, then so could she. She had promised Sanji those two weeks ago that she would be brave for him. And her missing friend had never needed his more timid crewmates to be steadfast and battle-ready than he did now.

The redhead let herself get more and more lost in thought as they plunged deeper and deeper into the thick underbrush, fear and adrenaline making her heart pound as the shifting black sand gave way to dense moss-covered loam. Completely distracted by her own mind, Nami yelped in shock, nearly jumping out of her skin, when a calloused hand grabbed her arm and pulled her backwards.

"What the hell?!" she yelled, spinning to face Zoro, who still held her with an iron grip.

The swordsman simply scowled at the navigator and indicated something on the ground ahead of her with a nod of his head. Turning slowly, she looked down and gasped. There, nearly hidden beneath a small bush, was a large steal trap. One more step, and she would have been caught.

"Good thing Swordsman-san stopped you," said Robin. The archeologist picked up a large stick and plunged it down between the waiting jaws, making her crewmates wince as it snapped shut, easily shattering the thick wood. Her flat tone never changed as she spoke. "Imagine if this had been your leg."

"Don't say such morbid things, Robin!" scolded Usopp, shuddering as he stared at the broken branch. He took a step toward his crewmate, as if to complain at her further, when a hoof stopped him.

"Wait," ordered Chopper, his nose twitching as he sniffed at the humid air. The reindeer wrinkled his nose. "I smell blood."

The Straw Hats tensed and watched as their doctor bent to examine the trap. After a couple of minutes, he frowned and sighed. Robin dropped down to kneel beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as she took a closer look as well.

"Doctor-san is right," she finally said when it had become clear that Chopper was too upset to give his findings. "This trap has been used recently."

Nami gasped. "You don't think."

Chopper nodded sullenly.

Fresh anger rippled through the pirate crew as they suddenly noticed the dried blood that coated the trap's sharp metal teeth and the red that stained the moss and soil below it. Luffy frowned and Zoro let out a rather frightening growl that made the others tense. Nami couldn't help but to wonder what other evidence of their missing friend's ordeal they would come across before his rescue. She saw her captain shudder, as if to shake off the sight before him, and then look grimly into the jungle's dark green twilight.

"Let's go."

The Straw Hats needed no other prompting, turning their attention away from the cruel device as they continued on their mission. After several minutes, they came across a wide dirt path that seemed to lead to the center of the island. Deep tire tracks marred its surface, indicating that the roughly built road had seen repeated use. The invading pirates gave each other knowing looks, and then broke into a run as they climbed the slight incline. This was it. They could feel it.

Soon, Luffy and Zoro were far ahead of their crewmates, each of them ready to take on their self-assigned missions. Instinctively, Nami moved closer to Robin and Franky as she watched Usopp and Chopper dash ahead. The doctor and sharpshooter would head up the task of finding Sanji, while the other three would provide backup. The plan needed no vocalizing, but was silently agreed upon by each of them.

The Straw Hats' captain and first mate had already disappeared when the rest of them reached the entrance to the mud brick compound. The building sat low to the ground, all but completely obscured by the thick foliage of the jungle, and the pirates could see the bloody path that their two strongest crewmates had carved through the horde of Iron Fists. Registering the oncoming vanguard, the enemy pirates turned to face their new foes, many of them sneering and snickering when they caught sight of Nami and Robin. The two women frowned and wasted no time in clearing the way for Usopp and Chopper, wordlessly urging them on as the duo disappeared into the Iron Fists' base.

"Lookee what we have here," mocked a particularly dirty blonde pirate as he leered menacingly at Nami. The navigator clutched her Climatact with a white knuckle grip as she glared down the ruffian. She could feel Robin and Franky's backs pressed against hers as the horde of Iron Fists surrounded them.

"You think they'll scream as loud as their friend when we cut them open?" asked Forehead Scar, who Nami immediately recognized from the night of Sanji's abduction.

"I don't know," chuckled Chin Scar. Robin crossed her arms in front of her, ready to attack as she faced down the brothers. "Captain wants us to kill them, but they're so much sweeter in person." Several other Iron Fists laughed at the remark. The ugly pirate grinned. "I wonder if they'll feel as nice to screw as they are to look at."

Robin and Nami glared at the pirates and they heard Franky give an uncharacteristic growl. All three Straw Hats tensed, ready for action. Whatever happened, they had to get this over with as quickly as possible. But, as fatigue from the heat and weeks of stress, and disappointment at not finding their friend immediately settled over them, they realized with dread that it wouldn't be an easily won victory.

* * *

Usopp and Chopper ran in determined silence as they frantically searched the Iron Fists' compound for their missing crewmate. It seemed that most of the enemy pirates had gathered outside of the entrance in anticipation of their arrival, and the duo mentally wished the other Straw Hats luck as they hurried through the empty halls. After several minutes of finding room after barren room, the sharpshooter finally turned to his companion.

"Oi, Chopper," he said, slightly out of breath. "Can't you use his scent to track him?"

At first, the reindeer's frown was the only indication that he had heard his friend. "No," he finally answered, the tremor in his voice betraying his frustration, "this whole place smells like death. I can't pick up anything else around it."

The sharpshooter shuddered at the revelation, and threw all of his concentration into searching for Sanji and ignoring the fear that clawed at his gut. They rounded a sharp corner and found themselves confronted by an open door. The thick metal hung into the small room, its hinges barely holding it upright. Someone had thrown the door open with more force than its structure was built to allow. The two more timid Straw Hats hovered nervously by the threshold for a moment. Something about the darkened space beyond made every single one of their sharply honed survival instincts scream at them to turn and run. The room's very existence was wrong, and both of them trembled slightly as they braced themselves before stepping inside.

At first, it seemed to be a fairly normal room, no different from the numerous empty ones that they had encountered before, but as Usopp and Chopper's eyes adjusted to the dim light, they discovered that their worst suspicions didn't come close to the scene that surrounded them. The sharpshooter gasped in a mixture of astonishment and repulsion as he took in the heavy shackles and chains hanging from the mud brick walls, and the large blood stains and streaks on the pressed dirt floor, and the two obviously dead Iron Fist pirates.

It was Chopper who finally ventured further into the crude prison cell, his blue nose twitching and wrinkling as he inhaled the disgusting myriad of foul odors. He bypassed the two dead ruffians, barely sparing their bodies a glance, as he searched for clues as to Sanji's possible location and condition. Usopp found himself simultaneously impressed and horrified at how quickly his friend had switched roles from frightened crewmate to calculating doctor, furrowing his brow when he saw the reindeer bend to examine a stain that was definitely not blood.

"What is it?" asked the sharpshooter, dropping down so he was level with Chopper's short Brain Point form.

Blue nostrils flared for a moment, and then their owner sneezed and gagged, clearly repulsed by the pungent smell. Chopper frowned and wiped at his nose with a furry arm. "It's vomit."

Usopp's expression mirrored his crewmate's for a moment, and then he refocused on the dead pirates. The two Iron Fists had clearly met violent ends. One body lay crumpled against the wall, his neck bent at an odd angle and the side of his head caved in. He could clearly see where the ruffian had made impact, as the mud bricks a few feet above where the man lay had been broken away, and what pieces remained were splattered with blood and bits of things whose origins Usopp would rather not have guessed at.

The other dead Iron Fist was far more nightmarish in appearance. His face and body were discolored and bloated, his thick tongue lolling out from between fattened lips and his eyes bulging from beneath their lids. Upon closer inspection, Usopp noticed that the dead pirate's pants were open and that his most private areas—which were also engorged, though not from whatever had killed him—were exposed. He frowned and turned to Chopper for his opinion, only to find his crewmate distracted by a find of his own.

The reindeer stood a few feet away from the bloated pirate's body, a small slip of paper clasped between his hooves. His head was bowed as he read the label, and Usopp could see him trembling. More than a little surprised that a piece of paper, of all things, would make his friend seem so upset, the Straw Hat sniper stepped around the already decaying body (being sure to give it a wide berth) and peered over Chopper's shoulder. What he had originally thought to be a slip of paper was in actuality a little waxed paper packet, similar to those that the Drum Island doctor used when he prescribed medication to his crewmates. He could barely make out words written across its surface, but the scrawl was so sloppy that it may as well have been another language. Usopp was, however, able to pick out two words, written in all capital letters amongst the squiggles: "LOVE STONE". He hummed in confusion and looked back at the two dead pirates, and then at the empty package again.

"Chopper?" The reindeer jumped, surprised when his concentration on the unintelligible writing was broken by Usopp's tap on his shoulder. The sharpshooter indicated the deceased Iron Fists with a wave of his hand. "Do you think that these two maybe got caught together? Maybe they were using that…Love Stone with each other, or whatev—"

The rest of Usopp's hypothesis froze in his throat when he saw the enraged look in his friend's brown eyes.

"No." The single syllable carried more weight than any other the Straw Hat doctor had ever spoken, and betrayed his vast medical knowledge gained from years of careful study. All at once, Chopper sounded tired, wise, angry, and a little bitter. Suddenly, the kid brother that the sharpshooter had come to know stood before him an adult. He nodded at the vomit stain on the floor. "That didn't have any food in it, and those two have definitely eaten, but it smelled the same as this"—he held up the empty packet—"and I smelled other medications as well, things that you wouldn't give to someone healthy."

Usopp felt the color drain from his face as realization of what the doctor was saying dawned on him. "So, you think?"

Chopper nodded.

The floor suddenly seemed to tip beneath his feet, and the already cramped space became far too small. The sharpshooter gasped for air, using Kabuto to brace himself as he began to feel faint. All that blood, and the vomit, and the dark, and the heat, and the smell, and the drugs, and the pirates that had clearly been doing…_something_. He had to leave. That was all Usopp could think about, his need to get out of that tiny cell and away from the terrifying visions of what Sanji had been enduring at the hands of the Iron Fists. He staggered for the door, and found himself taking several deep breaths when he finally found the now spacious hallway. Usopp coughed and hiccupped, wiping frantically at the tears that were running down his cheeks.

After a few minutes, Chopper joined him, a combination between heat sickness and sadness slumping his shoulders. The reindeer sniffed and looked up at his friend, who could see an uncommon amount of fury boiling within the little doctor.

"So who do you think killed them?" prodded Usopp when he had finally regained his composure. He watched as Chopper crushed the waxed paper in his grip, the sound of the packet being destroyed echoing slightly in the empty hall.

"I have an idea of who it was." The doctor looked up at his friend determinedly. "Let's keep moving."

The sharpshooter nodded, and they took off down the hallway again, this time with even more urgency than before. They passed a few more open doorways, but the rooms that they led to were all empty, completely devoid of any other grim clues to their missing friend's whereabouts. It was just beginning to feel as though they would never find Sanji (or a way out of the compound for that matter), when the duo caught a glimpse of lamplight shining into the darkened hall. Both Straw Hats ground their heels into the floor, skidding abruptly to a halt and just narrowly avoiding colliding with one another. Cautiously, and with as much bravery as they could muster, Usopp and Chopper peered into the new room, only barely managing to suppress stunned gasps.

Unlike the horrible cell from which they had just escaped, this small space was clean and almost inviting. As soon as one walked through the door, whose lintel was significantly higher than the rest in the compound, the pressed dirt of the hallway's floor gave way to white ceramic tile and the mud brick walls were hidden away behind a layer of textured plaster. Shelves of medical supplies lined the walls, and there was a comfortable looking bed tucked in the back corner. But what drew the Straw Hats' immediate attention was the desk near the door, its surface all but completely covered by papers, and the odd man sitting in the rolling chair beside it.

The man was tall, _really_ tall. His long legs bent at acute angles as he sprawled in the low slung chair. The slender fingers of one hand drummed against his thigh, while the others absently grasped a lit cigarette, the nearly spent stick all but forgotten as the man studied something on the floor by the door with heavy lidded eyes. The forgotten cigarette had nearly burned away, and from the full ashtray sitting atop the stacked papers on the desk, it appeared that he had been lost in thought for quite some time.

Usopp frowned as he took in the details of the Iron Fist pirate's appearance. His clothes were of higher quality than the other pirates' had been; the expensive silk, cotton, and wool protected by a long white lab coat. Closer examination revealed some deep red stains on the man's sleeves and some small splatters and drips along his lapel and hem. The bloodied fabric was concerning, but the square of gauze taped to his chin—ever so slightly off center—was even more disconcerting. This man, he couldn't be—

"Doctor Kuroda?" Chopper spoke first, having come to the same conclusion as his crewmate.

Kuroda startled slightly, twitching when he heard his name, and looked up at the intruders. His mouth dropped open and his eyebrows rose in a flash of surprised confusion before his emotions were hidden behind a mask of amused indifference. The corners of his wide mouth curled in a small smile.

"You must be Sanji-kun's friends."

Usopp saw his friend shiver slightly at the sound of the other doctor's unusual singsong voice, and knew immediately that their suspicions had been confirmed. The Iron Fist pirate's grin widened at their stunned silence.

"My apologies," said Kuroda, extinguishing the tiny butt that remained of his cigarette in the dish on his desk, "where are my manners. Please, come in."

The Straw Hats both tensed at the invitation, feeling as though they were walking into a trap, but obliged nonetheless. As they fully entered the small infirmary, they saw the extent of the destruction that had been wrought upon the small room. The sheets from the bed lay in a tangled ball on the floor, the white fabric stained with blood. More of the vital fluid smeared the floor as well, and Usopp and Chopper could clearly pick out hand prints among the streaks, drips, and splatters that marred the otherwise pristine tile. The worst of the staining seemed to be around the wall and floor by the door, and they could almost picture Sanji leaning against the plaster as he cowered from his captures.

"He asked me to help him escape," remarked the Iron Fist doctor, sounding somewhere between bemused and bitter. He absently rubbed at the back of his head, and Usopp could see blood staining the man's fingertips when he pulled them away. Kuroda met the sharpshooter's gaze. "Again, my apologies, I seem to keep getting lost in myself."

The longnose and the reindeer subconsciously moved closer to each other. Kuroda was so polite, a far cry from the other Iron Fist pirates that they had encountered, but there was something about him that was out of place. He was a little creepy, yes, but it went beyond that. Just standing near the seated pirate made Usopp's instincts scream "danger!" and he secretly wondered if the doctor really needed their help.

Doctor Kuroda tilted his head to the side, casually resting his cheek on the knuckles of an elongated hand. "Won't you introduce yourselves? It seems you know my name, but I don't know yours."

Usopp and Chopper glanced at each other, their eyes meeting in a brief moment of confusion and panic. The Iron Fist doctor raised his eyebrows at the cautious pair, his patience apparently wearing thin.

"I-I'm Usopp," the Straw Hat sniper finally answered, the tremor in his voice banishing any false bravado that he may have tried to project. "And this is Chopper."

Kuroda's lips parted in a very small smile, and he turned away from Usopp to focus his full attention on Chopper. Normally, the timid reindeer would have recoiled at getting so much attention from a stranger, much less a possible enemy, but something in the Straw Hat doctor's attitude had shifted since coming across Sanji's rank and bloodied prison cell. Chopper glared determinedly up at the other doctor, his bravery prompting the Iron Fist pirate's grin to widen.

"You must be Sanji-kun's doctor," stated Kuroda, the melody of his amused tone slightly soured by a note of jealously.

Usopp frowned. "How do you—"

"Sanji-kun talks in his sleep," answered the Iron Fist doctor, his voice suddenly cold and his eyes never leaving Chopper's. He quickly regained his smile. "He was quite insistent, you know…that I wasn't his doctor."

Chopper's scowl deepened, his forehead and nose wrinkling as he stared down the fellow doctor. Usopp eyed his crewmate in confusion. Aboard the Sunny, it had sounded as if the Straw Hat doctor wanted to rescue his Iron Fist counterpart, but now he looked ready to kill the man. The sharpshooter wasn't quite sure what had changed his friend's mind, though the waxed paper packet, now all but crushed between the little reindeer's hooves, seemed to have something to do with it. Unable to stand the tension any longer, Usopp took a tentative step toward the other man, barely managing to conceal his shaking knees as he did so.

"We can help you get away from Standish…" Usopp recoiled slightly when Kuroda redirected his heavy-lidded gaze at him; his wide grin all but completely vanished. The longnose licked his lips nervously. "He hurt you, didn't he? After you tried to save Sanji?"

Long fingers reached up to thoughtfully prod the gauze taped over his bruised and bloodied chin as Doctor Kuroda considered the offer. He glanced back at Chopper, whose angry expression hadn't changed, and his smile made a fresh appearance. "It seems that your doctor doesn't agree with your decision, Usopp-kun."

The sharpshooter turned to his friend, concern creasing his brow. Kuroda was right. With every second that ticked by, the reindeer looked more and more furious. What Sanji needed was for them to be united, not rashly and individually making their own plans. Besides, Kuroda could probably help them find their missing friend more quickly, and even help to treat him. Didn't Chopper remember that his own infirmary had been destroyed?

"Chopper, Luffy said—"

"I know what Luffy said!" Chopper's voice shook with rage. "But, can't you see? He hurt Sanji as much as the rest of them did!"

Usopp opened his mouth to ask for further explanation, but the Straw Hat doctor cut him off, his voice rising as his pent up emotion spilled out at Kuroda.

"Only a doctor could have made something like this!" cried the reindeer, throwing the crumpled waxed paper to the floor. "Where did you get the ingredients for this?! What else have you been poisoning Sanji with?!"

"You are quite clever, Chopper-kun," congratulated Kuroda. His amused singsong made shivers run up and down Usopp's spine. "I guess you could say I had some on hand. As to whether or not I've been _poisoning_ Sanji-kun…let's just say that every doctor has his own methods for treatment."

It suddenly became terrifyingly clear that the Iron Fist doctor wasn't on their side and had never intended to be. Usopp tightened his grip around Kabuto, hoping to use the action to quell the tremor in his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chopper reach for the Rumble Balls stashed in his pocket. Noting the change in the atmosphere, Kuroda shifted in his chair, and the Straw Hats tensed as he leaned toward them.

"It's not too late, Kuroda," said Usopp, his voice, by some miracle, managing to sound firm. "Help us rescue Sanji, and maybe we'll let you go."

"I am afraid that was never a possibility," grinned the Iron Fist doctor. "You see, I've grown rather attached to Sanji-kun, and my captain has promised that, once you are defeated, I may keep him…"

Doctor Kuroda stood, and Usopp and Chopper couldn't help but to step back as he towered over them. The doctor's skin began to glisten with a strange substance as he advanced on his patient's rescuers. His confident smile widened.

"…and I never had any intention of sharing."

* * *

Sweat and anger rolled off of Zoro in waves as he charged through the labyrinth of hallways that made up the Iron Fists' hidden base. He had some idea of where he needed to go. He very clearly remembered Saul's old basement "workshop"; but, dammit, if the walls would just stop moving on him, he would stop going in circles. The swordsman's mind raced as he ran. The Iron Fists on the galleon at the sandbar had been significantly stronger than those on the small raiding ship, and those guarding the compound even more so. Or, perhaps, heat, fatigue, and stress were making the Straw Hats (including himself) weaker. Zoro frowned at the thought.

It certainly made sense. They hadn't been eating very well since Sanji's capture, what with none of them possessing the same skill in the kitchen. And not a single one of the Straw Hats had managed a full night's sleep in the two weeks that had passed. Even Luffy's energy seemed to be wearing thin, and Zoro could feel his own body dragging as it reached its limits far too early.

The first mate huffed irritably and ground to a halt, leaning against the mud brick wall as he caught his breath in the unbearable heat. He needed to concentrate. Not on the state of his crew's health, or on the battle to come, or even on finding the cook. No, the swordsman needed to find his center, the calm warrior with the finely honed skills that had somehow been lost in light of all that had happened. Closing his eyes, Zoro focused on his breathing, frowning slightly as he struggled to push away the visions of Sanji's body strapped to Saul's table in favor of the emotionless zen that allowed him to cut through anything. After several minutes, he felt his heart rate slow, its pace evening out as the familiar calm of battle-readiness settled over him. Soon, his fears and anxieties began to subside and even Kitetsu—excited by the copious amounts of blood that it had already gotten to drink—ceased its frantic rattling. The Pirate Hunter smiled grimly and patted the black blade approvingly. It would see more action soon enough.

Finally satisfied that he had sufficiently regained control of his emotions, Zoro set off once again, this time allowing his feet, and not his head, lead the way. The swordsman was well aware that his sense of direction was non-existent (and even laughable, according to a certain Sea Witch and Shit Cook). But, though his instincts rarely took him where he wanted to go, Zoro found that they always took him where he _needed_ to go.

Sure enough, within a few short minutes, he found a door that he had missed several times before. Slowing to a jog and then a walk as he approached it, Zoro noticed as he drew closer that it stood slightly ajar, as if to welcome him inside. Setting his face in a determined scowl, the Straw Hat first mate pushed the door open, its well oiled hinges barely making a whisper of a sound as it swung into the darkened space beyond. With a firm grip on Kitetsu's handle, the swordsman peered into the darkness and felt his heart quicken.

There they were, descending into the hell that had haunted his dreams for the last several days. Stairs.

Zoro took several bracing breaths, committing the scent of fresh air to memory, and then stepped inside. His pace increased with every step, until he was running down into the heavy darkness at a dead sprint, taking the stairs two and three steps at a time. In a matter of no time, the air grew cooler, thicker, and dank. The all too familiar smell of blood and metal engulfed him, and he almost forgot to slow down as the narrow stairway opened out into a large darkened room, skidding to a halt and nearly tripping down the last few steps.

The faint glow of a small fire provided only the loosest definition of illumination in the underground space. Its dim glow caught on the edges of foreign, yet chillingly familiar furniture, shelving, tools, and other shadowy shapes. Zoro gripped the handle of one of his swords and worked to slow his breathing, struggling a little as his nose was assaulted by the scent of blood, sweat, oil, and metal. The swordsman imagined that if fear had an odor, that this cocktail would be it. He caught the shadowy shape of a large table out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly nightmarish memories washed over him like a glacial river, making his blood run cold. Opening his eyes as wide as humanly possible in a futile attempt to better his vision in the darkness, Zoro approached the table with determined steps. His mind, racing as it relived his most recent nightmares, couldn't seem to decide if the grim piece of furniture was occupied or empty. Every time that he blinked, he would be momentarily convinced that he could see the cook strapped to its wide expanse, only to see the ghost of the body fade until he blinked again. He had nearly reached the table, his hand extended to help find his way in the gloom, when bright lights suddenly flared and buzzed to life. Temporarily flash blind, the swordsman swore and crammed his eyes closed, stopping dead in his tracks in hopes of avoiding walking into anything.

"If you're looking for the bathroom, you're in the wrong place."

Zoro spun on the owner of the silky voice and opened his eyes, hissing as his pupils contracted against the bright incandescent light that assaulted them. Both hands found the familiar leather and cord that bound Wado and Kitetsu as he shifted into a battle ready stance and snarled at the Iron Fist pirate. "Saul."

Saul the Mechanic grinned as he leaned casually against the wall by the stairway. Zoro's heart beat a little more quickly. Had he walked right past the bastard and not noticed? Seemingly amused by the swordsman's shock, the Iron Fist first mate smiled even wider, his sneer reaching up to illuminate his eyes with a cruel, excited gleam.

"You know, when my captain first told me that you were part of Straw Hat's crew, I didn't believe him," drawled Saul, leaving his station by the wall to slowly circle his adversary. "I thought, 'Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro, the lone warrior, turned _pirate_? Surely, it must be some sort of prank. After all, who would ever want _you_ on their crew?'"—The Mechanic laughed at his own joke, the harsh noise echoing as he moved deeper into his domain.—"But, then there you were, staring up at me from that wanted poster. How does it feel, Roronoa? To be the hunted instead of the hunter?"

Zoro made no response other than to narrow his eyes, slowly turning to follow the path of his adversary so that his back never faced him. Saul came to a stop when he reached his table, and the Straw Hat first mate let a pent up breath of relief escape when he caught sight of its metal surface. _Empty._

"Oh? Were you expecting to see something else here, Roronoa?" asked the Iron Fist first mate. He ran his hand affectionately along the tabletop, causing the thick layers of blood dried to it to crumble away. Raising his hand, Saul studied the red dust coating his fingers for a moment, shivering slightly as he relished the memories of his most recent victim. He delicately licked at one of the stained digits, grinning as he ran his tongue over the unique flavor and drew an angry growl from Zoro. "I'm afraid it didn't take long for me to get bored with Black Leg. I really do prefer women, and it took so little time for him to break."

Zoro tightened his grip around Wado and Kitetsu, all but unaware of the blades' angry rattling in light of his own fury. The Mechanic raised an amused eyebrow.

"Shall I describe for you how he screamed when I cut him, or how he begged when I beat him," Saul taunted. He paused, his lips curling into a cruel sneer as his fingers met the smooth rounded metal of the Pear that lay bloodied and gleaming dully on the rolling tray by the table. "Or, perhaps, how he _moaned_ when I stimulated him in ways he's never felt before."

"YOU BASTARD!" screamed Zoro, pulling his swords from their sheaths in a blur of motion as he lunged at the pirate before him.

Blinded by his fury, Zoro's attack was a clumsy shadow of his normally controlled movements, and Saul easily sidestepped him, allowing the swordsman to run full tilt into the metal table. The Straw Hat first mate grunted as his stomach painfully made contact with the unyielding surface, wrinkling his nose at the overwhelming stench of fear that radiated from the metal. Righting himself, he turned to face his enemy once again, who now stood before his forge. The Mechanic crossed his arms over his chest, radiating cool, collected confidence. Behind him, Zoro could see a whole new collection of trophies; the grizzly display framing Saul's body. He briefly allowed his mouth to drop open in astonishment and horror. This new assortment of body parts was significantly larger than the one he had encountered in the East Blue. Saul snickered as he watched the other first mate's reaction to the forcefully obtained remains.

"My captain was so kind to let me continue collecting my little mementos," he sneered, effectively drawing Zoro's attention back to him. "I haven't decided what I want to take from Black Leg. Perhaps his right foot…it shouldn't be too hard to remove at this point. But it'll be so much bigger than my other trophies." Saul laughed. "Perhaps I could use it as a door stop."

Zoro let out a feral sounding growl and coiled himself for a second attack, only to stop himself mid-action. _Don't let this bastard goad you into striking blindly_, said a small voice inside his head that sounded oddly similar to the cook. _You have to __**think**__, Marimo. You can't just rely on your muscle; you'll have to outsmart the shitty bastard._

The swordsman grumbled inwardly, irritated that the cook had crept into his thoughts. Not that it was so unusual (he often heard Nami's voice chastising him whenever he dropped a significant amount of berries on a bottle of sake), but hearing Sanji was an entirely new occurrence. Zoro frowned, deciding to roll with it for the moment, and refocused on the grinning pirate before him.

"Is that hesitation, I see?" teased Saul. "Don't tell me the great Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro, Demon of the East Blue, worth 120 million berries, is _scared_?"

"Like hell, I am," growled Zoro with a grim, determined grin. _Okay, so what's the plan, shit cook?_

Silence.

Zoro felt cold dread stab at his heart. Of course the cook wouldn't answer. He was a figment of his imagination. He set his jaw and felt Wado and Kitetsu tremble in his hands, the white and black blades humming in anticipation of the battle to come.

He had to win, for Sanji. And, Zoro realized, he would have to do it alone.

* * *

"Saaaaaaaaaannnjjjiiiiiiiiiiii!"

Luffy's searching yells were accompanied only by the sound of his sandals echoing in the deserted halls. He was hot and confused and hungry, but, most of all, Luffy was furious. The anger that had been seething within him ever since they had found Nami, battered and crying in the galley, and learned that Sanji had been taken was reaching a boiling point. Pure, unadulterated hate was a rare feeling for the Straw Hat captain, whose trademarked good mood and high sunny spirits were difficult to dampen. But, as more and more evidence of Sanji's suffering piled up around him, Luffy found it hard not to lose himself to the contempt that he felt for Standish and his men.

Sucking in a deep breath, the Straw Hat captain bellowed his lost friend's name again, listening for any sort of response as his voice reverberated around him. All he wanted was some sort of sign—a shout, a swear, a whimper, _something_—any indication that Sanji was alive. Instead, Luffy added disappointment to his growing list of negative emotions as the only answer that he received was the noise made by his sandals flapping against the pressed dirt floor. The rubberman's frown deepened. Sanji had to be alive. _Had to be._ There was no way that his foul-mouthed, fiery-tempered friend could die at the hands of the Iron Fists. He still had his dreams to achieve. He hadn't gotten to fully enjoy the Sunny, or see a real mermaid. Hell, he hadn't found the All Blue. There was no way that Sanji would die without seeing the All Blue.

Caught up in his own thoughts, Luffy didn't notice the heavy, double, metal doors until he had careened into them, the force created by his momentum easily knocking them down. Unable to come to a halt quickly enough, the pirate barreled headlong into a long table, shattering the thick wood on impact. The Straw Hat captain sat on the floor in a daze for a moment as splinters rained down around him. That had hurt more than it should have. Luffy pressed a hand to his grumbling and now slightly sore stomach. He guessed that his hunger had something to do with his increased sensitivity to pain.

Once the room finally stopped spinning, he stood and faced the now destroyed doors, brushing dust from his clothes as he did so. In the end, the impact with the metal and then the wood had been bracing more than anything else, effectively clearing his mind of the uncharacteristic panicked thoughts, and allowing his old, stubborn loyalty and determination to regain their hold over him.

Luffy cracked his neck and shoulders, stretching the stiffness away, and absentmindedly checked to make sure his hat was still okay. "Now to find Sanji," he said to himself with emphasis.

He began to make his way through the wide open doorway, kicking aside some stray remains of the table as he did so, when he heard the deep rumble of laughter behind him. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Luffy's neck stood on end. He knew that laugh; he had felt its vibration as it came from the Transponder Snail, could still feel it making his heart flutter. His hands balled into shaking fists, his knuckles popping as they resumed a position that had become all too familiar in the last two weeks, and turned to face the man responsible for his crew's suffering.

"Sandwich."

The Iron Fist captain's grin faltered for only a moment as he studied the young intruder before him. Luffy glared down his friend's kidnapper and tormentor, just then realizing that he had stumbled upon what was quite possibly the largest room in the entire compound.

The space was huge, and closely resembled a massive banquet hall. Easily large enough to contain the entire Iron Fist horde with room to spare, more long tables like the one Luffy had destroyed in his less-than-graceful entrance were evenly distributed around the space. To his left, he could see row upon row of the furniture stretching for several hundred feet; and, to his right, was a set of double swinging doors through which, his growling stomach told him, was the kitchen. But the Straw Hat captain's undivided attention was on Standish, who stood opposite of him, a wide grin splitting his face.

"Straw Hat Luffy," sneered Standish, his eyes twinkling with cruel glee from beneath his plumed hat. "I was wondering if you'd actually show up."

"WHERE'S SANJI?!"

The Iron Fist captain's grin grew, and Luffy felt his stomach churn with rage.

"All in good time." Standish cracked his massive knuckles menacingly. "I want to have a little _fun_ first."

Luffy mimicked the action as the tension between the opposing captains electrified the air.

An eerie silence settled over the already quiet island, and Luffy could feel the other Straw Hats facing off against their respective foes. Though their enemies' thoughts and motives were varied, the same single question—as if connected through some telepathic link—occupied the friends' minds as they stood on the edge of battle, the single unifying thought driving the tightly knit crew forward.

Where the hell was Sanji?

* * *

Chapter 17, end.

Where _is _Sanji? *evillaugh*

The next few chapters will be pure fighting awesomeness. They should be interesting...I've never written extended fight scenes before. I'm still trying to decide if I want to do one fight per chapter or combine two per chapter. I know what the outcome of each fight needs to be, but haven't quite decided how to get there. We'll see.

As always, please review! Now that I'm working 40 hours per week or more, every little bit of motivation helps. Every review brings me boundless joy. :)


	18. Chapter 18

Time for battle.

Warning, this chapter contains depictions of rape and violence. Remember...

This fic is **rated M**.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

A small frown marred Robin's otherwise expressionless face as she dispatched yet another member of the Iron Fist Pirates' seemingly never ending horde. The unfortunate ruffian's neck snapped easily, and the Devil Fruit user sidestepped to avoid his falling body. The sounds of battle rang in her ears. Somewhere behind her, Robin could hear Franky's Strong Right plowing through a particularly large group of enemies. Shortly after his bellowing battle cry, she heard Nami's higher pitched version, quickly followed by a loud zap and the smell of burning flesh as more Iron Fists succumbed to the navigator's Thunderbolt Tempo.

The archeologist ducked just in time to avoid the sweeping swing of a half-rusted cutlass, crossing her arms and muttering "clutch". Her attacker cried out in pain as the hands that had sprouted from his body grabbed at his chin and bent him backwards at an inhuman angle. A loud crack told her that his spine was broken, and the former assassin let her newest victim slump to the ground. As the incapacitated pirate fell, she caught a whiff of his foul body odor, the stench causing her to wrinkle her nose. The unhygienic brute stank of alcohol, sweat, and something else. Robin's frown deepened as she took out several more pirates. What was that smell? It nagged at the back of her mind, its familiarity causing goosebumps to erupt across her arms in spite of the intense heat. And then, it finally dawned on her.

Robin's eyes widened and she froze in place as memories that she had suppressed long ago washed over her. She knew that scent, or a variation of it. The heavy, musky odor of a man that had just had sex. Her heart began to pound harder and her pulse roared in her ears as the olfactory memory overwhelmed her.

* * *

It had been two or three short days before her ninth birthday when it happened. Robin had only been away from her destroyed home for a few months, sailing aimlessly from island to island as she fled the persecution of the World Government. The men had followed her off of the ship she had gained passage on, and cornered her in an alley near the docks.

"She's kinda young, ain't she?" complained one of the men as he leered down at the cowering child.

Robin trembled as she looked up at them, her eyes wide but dry, as she studied her three attackers. She could feel a bruise growing on her forehead and the dizziness from the surprise ambush hadn't quite subsided. The largest of the trio grinned down at her.

"Yeah, but look how cute she is," he sneered. He knelt before her and roughly took her small quivering chin in his hand. "The government's going to kill her when we turn her in anyway, so we may as well have a little fun." His cruel grin widened and his free hand began to snake up underneath the hem of Robin's dress. "It would be a shame to waste something so sweet."

Still a little naïve in her young age, Robin wasn't entirely sure what her attacker was referring to, but she knew that it was bad. Every single survival instinct at her disposal screamed at her to flee, to get away from these men and run as fast as she could.

"D-Don't—Don't touch me!" she squealed, lashing out at the man with her foot. She felt the toe of her shoe connect with his chin, making the man lurch backward a few inches. His head momentarily whipped back from the impact, and then he faced his victim again, growling fiercely as he watched Robin try to scramble away.

"You fucking brat!" he snarled, and roughly grabbed her by the ankle, pulling her back. He leaned in close, his big ugly face only inches from Robin's pale one, as his hand resumed his exploration beneath her dress. "Try that again, and I'll kill you."

Robin whimpered and lay still. Her attacker grinned, his calloused fingertips brushing against her hip as he reached for the edge of her underwear.

"Good girl."

The next several movements happened so quickly that they would all blend together in Robin's memory in a haze of terror and pain. All of a sudden, the ruffian ripped her undergarments away from her small body, the fabric easily tearing under this brute strength, unzipped his pants, and thrust into the child before him. Robin screamed as her body was subjected to the foreign torture, only to find her cries muffled by the sweaty palm of her rapist. She tried once again to struggle beneath him as every agonizing movement tore at her insides, but the other two men held her down, laughing at her as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Then she felt something warm explode inside of her body, the sensation seeming to fill the cramped space within, and the man on top of her shuddered and pulled out.

Robin whimpered as the invading object left. She felt empty and open, as if her body had been hollowed out from the inside. But her brief reprieve wouldn't last long. Within mere moments, one of her attacker's companions knelt between her thin legs, and her torment started anew. Every minute dragged painfully by as the three men each took their turn with her, seemingly never satisfied.

When they finally had had their fill, the three ruffians stood over their young victim, laughing as they came down from the high of their most recent exploit. Tears silently rolled down Robin's cheeks as she lay in the dirt. She could feel warm, thick, wetness oozing from between her legs, and knew that she must be bleeding. Her right eyebrow and jaw throbbed from where they had hit her when she had screamed, and she could feel bruises blossoming on her arms and legs.

"It's kind of a shame we have to turn her in," complained one of the men as he leered down at her. He bent and caressed her cheek, drawing a whimper from his victim. The ruffian laughed when she flinched away from his touch. "Maybe we should keep her. No one will miss her."

Robin's tear-filled eyes widened. They were going to keep her? Is that what her life was to become? Had she escaped the hell of the Buster Call only to live as the plaything of these disgusting smelly men?

"Naw, she'd be too expensive," said the trio's leader. "She probably wouldn't make it that long anyway, and if we got caught with her, we'd be arrested for harboring a fugitive."

The other man frowned, and then returned his attention to the crying child before him. "Yeah, you're right. But let's at least take one more turn before we bring her in."

The little archeologist began to shake her head violently as she felt the man pull her closer to his excited heat. _Not again_, she thought, biting her lip with enough force to draw blood. _What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?_

Her attacker was moments away from plunging his length within her once again, when Robin's fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, this time opting for fight. A strange calm settled over her as she closed her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her body, focusing on using her Devil Fruit abilities in a way that she had never used them before. She heard the man gasp in shock as a dozen arms sprouted from his back and legs, the disembodied appendages reaching up to grasp his shoulders and chin in their tiny hands. Robin furrowed her brow and wrinkled her nose, throwing her full concentration into the strength required to bend her rapist's body backwards. The man began to scream as the multitude of arms painfully bent his back at an unnatural angle, and the girl could vaguely hear his friends reacting in shock and horror to the unusual sight before them. With one last powerful adrenaline-fueled jerk, Robin broke her attacker's back and neck with a loud snap. Opening her eyes, she watched as his body slumped to the ground, his last breath coming in a disgusting gurgle.

Fully aware that she wasn't out of danger yet, Robin sat up and focused on the other two men, all but ignoring the body that lay crumpled at her feet. The trio's ringleader growled at her, hiding his fear behind his anger and muscle as he advanced on his no-longer cowering captive. The girl glared up at the man, and then hurriedly closed her eyes once again, having already memorized the muscle movements required to take out her enemies. The big brute froze in his tracks as the child's disembodied hands sprang from his own back and legs, the small fingers grasping his chin, neck, and shoulders just as they had his friend's before him. Death came more quickly the second time around, as Robin knew the exact amount of force required to break the man's bones. She let an angry breath hiss from between clenched teeth as her Flower Flower Fruit power dissipated in a flurry of petals.

"You're—You're a monster!" cried the lone survivor, turning and running for the entrance of the alley. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't fast enough to escape the wrath of the recently dubbed Demon Child. A multitude of arms sprang from the ground at his feet, the small hands clinging at his clothes and dragging him back into the darkened alley as if he were trapped in the scene of some horror story.

Robin didn't even have to close her eyes to concentrate on her newly formed attack, its name easily rolling off her tongue as she dispatched the last of her attackers. "Clutch."

* * *

The three men in that alleyway had been the first that Demon Child Nico Robin had ever killed, but she had soon discovered that they wouldn't be the last. As she grew and moved from one treacherous organization to another, the archeologist learned that the world was full of disreputable and disgusting men. In a matter of no time, she hid away her pain and loss behind an emotionless façade. No man would ever touch her without her permission ever again, and more than a few would succumb to painful, horrifying deaths to learn the lesson.

When she had first joined the Straw Hat crew, the archeologist had been leery of the pirates' lovesick cook. Though she had brushed him off with a polite smile, she had been wary of his constant advances, ready to defend herself at any given moment, especially at night when she heard him in the kitchen, which had been situated painfully close to the girls' dorm aboard the Going Merry. But Robin had soon discovered that Sanji's flirting, though often misplaced and rather inappropriate, was innocent at heart. He would never harm her, or Nami, or any woman for that matter. Eventually, she grew to tolerate, and then even enjoy his company.

The scene that she had encountered in the galley the morning after Sanji's abduction had shaken Robin to her core, her heart freezing in her chest as she realized with dread that one of her most steadfast friends—who had risked everything to save her only weeks before—had been subjected to the same torture that she had endured all those years ago.

Now grim determination and hatred held Robin's heart in an icy grip as the familiar scent of rape washed over her. The Iron Fist horde was huge, and there was no doubt in her mind that the cook had fallen victim to every single one of them. Lost in thought and her own painful memories, the dark-haired Straw Hat pirate didn't notice the oncoming attack until it was almost too late. Bounding backwards gracefully, she winced as the dull edge of a sword scraped across her skin, leaving a deep gash that extended along her collar bone to her shoulder and halfway around her arm, and cutting through the thin strap of her dress. Glaring fiercely at the newest Iron Fist to try to kill her (or worse) Robin crossed her arms and threw herself wholeheartedly into vanquishing her foes once again. The ruffian barely had a chance to scream before the former assassin snapped his neck, allowing his body to fall on top of those before him.

Hearing Nami scream in terror, she whirled around in time to see Franky attempt to block a particularly vicious group attack on the navigator. The Iron Fists seemed especially eager to get their hands on the redhead, apparently not satisfied with the preview that they had gotten aboard the Sunny two weeks prior. Several cutlasses, a couple of daggers, and a stray bullet made loud clanging sounds as they bounced harmlessly off of the cyborg's reinforced skin. Momentarily distracted by the barrage of weaponry, the shipwright failed to notice the underhanded attack on his exposed back until it was too late. Grinning evilly as they executed their clumsy maneuver, the Scar brothers pounced on the otherwise occupied cyborg. Wielding a kitchen knife that Robin immediately recognized as having come from Sanji's set, Forehead Scar launched himself at the large Straw Hat pirate, and managed to plunge the sharpened steep into Franky's fleshy back several times before he was thrown. Meanwhile, Chin Scar aimed a vicious kick at the backs of the shipwright's knees, sending him crashing to the ground.

"Franky!" Robin's call came out a desperate screech as she watched the Straw Hats' newest crewmate collapse in the dirt. Old memories and nightmares forgotten in light of her friend's current danger, the archeologist sprinted toward her fallen comrade, arriving in time to see Nami clutching desperately at his obnoxious pineapple-printed shirt. Small clouds of dust rose around her as she skidded to a halt, kneeling down beside Franky's prone form.

"Franky! Franky, are you okay?" cried Nami, giving the blue-haired cyborg a gentle shake and then a rougher one when he didn't immediately respond.

The Straw Hat shipwright cracked an eye open, peering out at his crewmates from around the shattered lenses of his sunglasses, and gave them a small smirk. Robin barely suppressed a wince as she saw a line of blood trickle from the corner of his mouth, struggling to keep her face neutral in hopes of keeping her friends from panicking.

"Robin-sis, Nami-sis, I'm—" Franky coughed, and had to wipe fresh blood away with a quivering hand. Apparently realizing his predicament, he attempted to reassure his worried comrades. The hand that had cleaned the blood from his mouth flexed into a weak thumbs-up. "I'm fine. Jus'…need a short…break. Kick these bastards' asses, okay?"

The archeologist's and the navigator's eyes met in a moment of silent understanding before they stood to face their foes once again. Robin noted with grim satisfaction that only a fraction of the Iron Fist crew remained; a mere thirty or so men out of the original horde of well over one hundred surrounded them in a sloppy circle. At the front of the crowd, the Straw Hats' female crewmembers could see the original trio of pirates that had taunted them at the beginning of the battle. The three Iron Fists grinned cruelly and advanced menacingly on Robin and Nami.

"That stupid blonde bastard attacked us for no reason, just because we liked what we saw on your wanted posters," sneered Billy. "Lot of good that did him."

Chin Scar laughed. "Yeah, the boss wouldn't have even noticed him if he hadn't made such a big show about it." The pirate's eyes flicked up and down Robin's body, and he licked his lips. "What's the matter with enjoying a product when it's put so nicely on display?"

"With the blue-haired freak out of the way, these two should be easy," added the other brother. Several other Iron Fists, emboldened by their crewmates' words, took eager steps forward. Forehead Scar grinned at the cornered women, seeming to find some small shred of bravery in his own goading. "Maybe we should make _Sanji-chan_ watch while we have our way with them."

Robin's nose wrinkled in disgust as the crude suggestion, and she could see Nami's expression mirror hers out of the corner of her eye. She felt the navigator tense beside her, her grip tightening around her Perfect Climatact. It was time to show these pigs just who they were dealing with. The Iron Fists let loose a deafening battle cry as they advanced on the two standing Straw Hats, their coarse voices all but drowning out the sound of Robin's "Cien Fluer!". Suddenly, disembodied arms sprang from the enemy pirate's inner thighs, the hands reaching upwards in a blur of motion to latch onto the ruffians' unguarded family jewels. With a look of grim determination, Robin willed the hands to squeeze and silently relished in the sounds of the men's agonized screams as she did irreparable harm to their most tender areas.

Beside her, she could see Nami using the window given to her to produce a multitude of Warm Balls and Cool Balls from her unique weapon, the colored pockets of air rapidly rising into the sky. Finding the oppressive heat and humidity working on their side for the first time, the navigator's artificial thunderhead grew to unnatural proportions as she continued to feed it with energy. Within a matter of minutes, the massive darkened cloud had completely blocked out the harsh sunlight, casting the bloodied battlefield and the Iron Fists' compound in its ominous shadow. The few pirates that somehow weren't squirming on the ground in pain looked up at the storm cloud with wide incredulous eyes, not entirely grasping what was going on. Nami locked a determined glare on the Scar brothers and Billy, who returned her stare with panic stricken faces as they struggled to remove their pulverized manhoods from the Flower Flower Fruit hands that grasped them.

"The weather today calls for high heat and humidity, with a chance of rain in the afternoon." The navigator smirked at the doomed pirates as Robin's hands disappeared in a whirlwind of petals. Raising a piece of her Perfect Climatact, she sent a ball of electricity into the looming cloud. The Iron Fists' eyes widened as their inevitable defeat at the hands of their would-be victims dawned on them. Nami and Robin braced themselves. "Be on the lookout for lightning as well as some divine justice."

The buzzing ball of electricity disappearing into the overwhelming mass of grey and the world went momentarily still. Robin could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end from the pent up static electricity before the tension in the sky broke. A bolt of lightning easily the size of one of Enel's monstrosities back on Skypiea plunged into the ground, its burning energy instantly cooking the Iron Fist horde where they stood. All three Straw Hats felt the thrill of the electricity vibrate through their bodies just before a massive thunderclap ripped through the sky. The booming sound was deafening, its deep trembling bass easily drowning out the screams of the dying pirates as it shook the small island all the way down to its core. Nami and Robin fell to their knees under the force of the violent vibrations, and the two of them bent over Franky's injured body as the artificial thundercloud, swollen by the island's natural humidity, released a deluge of rain.

Robin closed her eyes against the heavy stinging drops as she clung protectively to Franky's bloodied shirt. The downpour lasted a few mere minutes, and then the sky cleared as the pent up energy dissipated. Feeling the sun's unrelenting rays beating down on her wet skin, hair, and clothes, the archeologist looked up and surveyed the scene around her.

Not a single Iron Fist remained standing. All but a few were obviously dead, and even the survivors' skin was blackened and steaming as the intense sunlight dried away the moisture from the artificial storm. She noted with grim satisfaction that the three most vocal of the horde numbered among the deceased. The Scar brothers' and Billy's faces were contorted in terror, their expressions forever trapped in the horror of their last moments.

Feeling Franky rustle beneath her, Robin wearily got to her feet and then reached down to help Nami up. The navigator barely spared the defeated Iron Fists a glance as she and her crewmate turned to pull the cyborg to his feet. Franky staggered a little as he tried to find his footing, a small amount of blood dripping from the wounds riddling his back as he did so. Trying their best to be as gentle as possible, the women slung their friend's arms over their shoulders, grimacing a little as they took on some of his impressive weight.

"Cook-bro will be so jealous," Franky joked in an attempt to hide his discomfort. He gave his crewmates' shoulders a slight squeeze. "It's not every day a man is lucky enough to be escorted by two such SUPER ladies."

Nami looked up at him with a mock-serious expression, lightly tapping his metal reinforced abs with the end of her Climatact. "Try anything funny, and you'll owe me 200 million berries plus ten percent interest, got it?"

A small smile pulled at the corners of Robin's lips as she and Nami steered the wobbly cyborg toward the entrance of the compound. They paused at the threshold, peering into the darkness within. Their crewmates were already inside, and all three of them knew that, somewhere within those winding halls, trapped in the worst possible of nightmares, was their missing nakama. Robin felt Franky's arm tense around her. They had won the battle, but the war was far from over.

Peering around from Franky's other side, Nami locked a determined look first on the cyborg and then on the archeologist, trying her best to be brave in the face of what was to come, and then threw all of her focus into the gloom ahead of them.

"Let's go find Sanji-kun."

* * *

Chopper panted heavily as he faced the Iron Fist doctor in the stifling heat. The infirmary was a destroyed shell of a room compared to its former clean and organized glory. More blood than before stained the tile and walls. In several places, the reindeer could see where white ceramic slabs had cracked against the impact of the bodies thrown on them with bone-shattering force. And the walls hadn't fared much better. What little plaster façade still clung to the mud brick was only doing so by some sort of miracle, and small pieces of it continued to crumble and fall to the now exposed pressed dirt floor below.

Doctor Kuroda watched his adversary with heavy lidded eyes from the doorway, his expression neutral as he studied the Straw Hat doctor. Usopp had been put out of commission, and Chopper couldn't help but to spare him a glance every few seconds just to be sure that he was still breathing.

The sharpshooter lay in a heap between the wall and the bed, and his gasping breaths echoed around the room as his body slowly gave into the Iron Fist pirate's naturally produced poison.

"Usopp!" Chopper queried, a little surprised to find his voice coming out in a loud whisper. "Usopp! Hang in there!"

He heard his long-nosed friend moan, and the bed jerked as he moved against it, the metal legs making a slight screeching sound as they scraped against the floor.

"Your friend is running out of time, Chopper-kun," grinned Kuroda, one foot already out the door. "Without an antidote, Usopp-kun will die. Is the very slim chance at my defeat really worth risking your crewmate's life?"

Chopper glared up at the enemy doctor. As much as he hated to admit it, Kuroda was right. Even as they faced each other, the reindeer could feel the effects of his Rumble Ball wearing off and could hear Usopp's breathing grow more ragged. He knew that the antidote to the Iron Fist pirate's venom was somewhere on one of those carefully inventoried shelves, and that it would take some time to find and administer it, even though he already knew exactly what type of poison was coursing through his friend's system. But he couldn't just let Kuroda go. What if he grabbed Sanji and took him to a new island? The Straw Hat doctor bared his teeth at his enemy, looking all the more imposing in his Strong Point form. He couldn't choose between his two injured friends. It was impossible.

Kuroda grinned as the futility of the situation dawned on Chopper, and the Straw Hat felt his blood boil. It was hard to believe that a mere two and a half minutes before, the fight had been going their way. Now, he faced his formidable enemy completely and utterly alone and against a ticking clock. Suddenly, panic gripped Chopper's heart, and his bravery faltered.

Just when had things gone so wrong?

* * *

Battle 1: Nami, Robin, and Franky vs. the Iron Fist horde...completed

Next up: Chopper and Usopp vs. Doctor Kuroda

I decided to do one fight per chapter, plus a short preview of the next fight, just to build the suspense a little. Honestly, I'm not terribly pleased with how this chapter came out, but this was the one that I was the least excited to write to begin with and had absolutely no idea where it would go. I'm half tempted to go back and change it, but probably won't for quite a while as I'm eager to move on to the more highly anticipated battles and *other* goodies. Mwa ha ha

Per the usual routine, please review. They make me very, _very_, **very** happy. I know I must sound like a broken record, but this will be your last chance to guess at Kuroda's Devil Fruit. Some of you have gotten _really_ close.

Also, you may now find me on the tumblr. I am kumiko-sama-chan. *prances away*


	19. Chapter 19

Sorry for the long wait! May I present...Chapter 19: Usopp and Chopper vs. Doctor Kuroda.

This fic is **rated M**.

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

The inside of the Iron Fists' compound was terrifying in a dark, sickening, sinister sort of way. Nami, Robin, and Franky pressed onward in a determined silence, each of them mentally praying for their crewmates' safety. Their hearts and stomachs twisted in anxiety with every room that they met, as they simultaneously wished to find Sanji, yet hoped desperately that they wouldn't come across his lifeless body. Each turn of the dimly lit winding halls was agonizing as they continued to find nothing. No clues to the cook's location or condition, and no signs as to the other Straw Hats' whereabouts.

Nami frowned and furrowed her brow, sweating as she shouldered some of Franky's weight. The Iron Fist horde was vanquished, but that still left Standish and Saul. The navigator couldn't help but to wonder if Luffy and Zoro had found their respective opponents, and how they were faring in their battles. Normally, she wouldn't have worried about her two strongest crewmembers, but then, there had been a time that she hadn't had to worry about Sanji either.

The nightmarish memories of what she had witnessed in the galley the night of her friend's abduction had plagued the redhead's thoughts every waking and (very rare) sleeping moment, and her new concern for Luffy and Zoro was an almost welcome distraction. Zoro's connection to the Iron Fists' first mate remained a mystery, but the navigator found that she had no qualms with his eagerness to kill the man. From what she had heard spilling from the mouth of that Transponder Snail, it was clear that Saul had hurt Sanji, and that he had even taken his ability to walk. An involuntary shudder shook its way through Nami's body at the thought, and she felt Franky's hand squeeze her shoulder reassuringly, effectively pulling her from her morbid thoughts. The navigator mentally steeled herself. She was confident that Zoro could defeat the Mechanic, even if he was sleep deprived, and missing one of his three swords…and probably hopelessly lost in this maze of a building.

Nami huffed, irritated with her nagging doubt. Luffy hadn't been doing so great either. She had noticed her captain's usually sky-high levels of energy decreasing over the last two weeks, as sorrow and hunger wore on his heart and stomach. His rage at what Standish had done to his crew aside, the rubberman was a shadow of the normally undefeatable force of nature that commanded the most talked about rooky pirate crew in the world. He had especially been lagging in the last few days, as malnutrition and angst caught up to him. Name hoped desperately that these factors wouldn't hinder her captain too much in his fight against Iron Fist. The cruel man had to pay for his misdeeds, and, more importantly, Sanji had to be rescued.

Warm moisture oozed from Franky's back onto Nami's arm, and the navigator suddenly remembered Sanji's mystery savior as she felt the blood run over her sweaty skin. Was the Iron Fist doctor on their side? Would he help them find and treat Sanji? After all, Chopper's infirmary was destroyed. Would this Kuroda, whoever he was, let them use his supplies? The cloud of questions surrounding that odd singsong voice wore at the navigator's thoughts as they continued their search. Quite suddenly, Robin came to a halt, causing Franky to trip over his already stumbling feet, and Nami to almost bump into him. She peered around the cyborg, her mouth opening to ask what was going on, only to be silenced by the archeologist's raised hand.

Something was wrong.

Peering carefully into the gloom of the hallway, it took the navigator a few seconds to see what had caused her crewmate to come to such an abrupt halt. When she finally did spot it, she felt cold dread grip her heart.

There, just ahead of them, was blood, a lot of it. The wall and the floor of the hallway was splattered with it, the mud brick and pressed dirt all but completely obscured beneath the thick layer of coagulating red. If she looked closely enough, Nami was certain that she could make out the imprint of a body on the cracked wall, as if whoever the blood belonged to had been thrown against it with enough force to leave such a gruesome scene. After several minutes of studying the horrible crimson patterns decorating the hall, the navigator's brain caught up with her eyes, and her gaze traced the trajectory of the more-than-likely fatal hit to an open door that lay opposite the horrible stains. A warm, almost welcoming glow emanated from the space beyond, and if she listened carefully, the redhead thought that she could hear muffled sobbing. Nami's heart jumped into her throat. _It can't be…Sanji?_

Letting go of Franky—who by some small miracle managed to stay standing—the navigator rushed to the door, all but ignoring the sounds of her crewmates following behind her. Time seemed to slow as she ran those few feet to the empty doorway, her thoughts and worries a blur, and her hopes soaring astronomically high. When she finally reached the threshold and took in the sight before her, reality hit her with enough force to crack the ceramic tile beneath her feet.

The small space beyond appeared to be an infirmary, based upon the medical supplies on the few shelves that still clung to the walls. There was more blood on the white walls and floor, and what furniture was in the room was clearly no longer where it belonged. But the room's most notable quality was that Sanji was not inside. Rather, the missing injured cook was replaced by another scene that Nami had never, ever wanted to see.

Chopper knelt on the floor in his Heavy Point form. His hat was missing from his head, and a quick sweep of the room found the pink accessory lying on the tile a few feet away. There were tears running down the human-reindeer's cheeks, wetting his fur, but the salty water paled in comparison to the amount of blood staining his body. Nami couldn't help but to gasp in astonishment. It looked as if the Straw Hat doctor had bathed in the vital fluid. Chopper's appearance, however, was not what made the navigator's blood freeze in her veins. Rather, it was the sight of Usopp lying motionless on the floor as the reindeer frantically gave him chest compressions. The sharpshooter wasn't breathing, and it appeared that he hadn't been for quite some time.

"Dammit, Usopp, breath!" wailed Chopper, seemingly completely unaware of his crewmates' presence. "Please breath!"

Nami felt her own breath catch in her lungs as the sight before her froze her in place. Finally, she felt a warmth behind her as Robin propped Franky against the door frame and rushed past her into the small room.

"Doctor-san? What happened?" she asked, kneeling beside the reindeer and eyeing Usopp's lifeless body with calm concern.

Chopper only shook his head, tears, snot, and blood running down his face as he continued to beat on his friend's chest in a desperate attempt to revive him.

* * *

_Not so long before…_

"…and I never had any intention of sharing."

Usopp and Chopper stared wide-eyed at their adversary for a moment, easily intimidated by the Iron Fist doctor's incredible height and menacing presence. Chopper could feel his heart pounding at a mile a minute, but his hatred for the other man overruled his fear, effectively rooting him to the spot.

"Are you trying to sound cool, or something?" Usopp finally asked, his voice, full of false, forced bravado, breaking the tense silence. "Because there are way better lines you could have gone with."

Both doctors gave the sharpshooter incredulous looks. Chopper couldn't help but to let his jaw drop. What the hell was Usopp thinking? Out of the corner of his eye, the reindeer saw Kuroda's mouth open and close, his brow furrowing as he sought a response to the strange statement. The Straw Hat sniper smirked.

"I don't think you know who you're dealing with here," boasted the longnose as he jabbed a thumb toward his puffed out chest. "Luffy gets a lot of hype, but he's nothing compared to the Great Captain Usopp! Any minute now, my legions of followers will be here and they'll sink this shitty little island into the ocean!"

Doctor Kuroda's surprised and confused expression quickly shifted to a deadpan one as he easily read the Straw Hat pirate's lie. Chopper edged a little closer to his friend, tensing as he prepared for their enemy's inevitable attack.

"What are you doing, Usopp?" he asked in a harried whisper, never taking his eyes from their foe.

"Buying us some time," came Usopp's equally quiet-yet-not-quiet response. Kuroda raised his eyebrows, apparently amused by the Straw Hats' definitely audible conversation. "Look at his skin! Clearly, he's eaten some sort of Logia-type Devil Fruit. Even if we try to fight, we won't be able to hit him with anything. Maybe if we can distract him, Luffy or Zoro or Franky or Robin will show up and beat him."

Chopper's frown deepened at around the same time that Kuroda's wide mouth curled into a smile. "I don't think he's a Logia-type."

The Straw Hat doctor's observation caused Usopp to look at his friend in confusion, all but completely turning away from his looming enemy. "What?!"

"You're a Zoan-type user, aren't you?" Chopper more accused than asked, refocusing all of his attention on Kuroda.

"You are quite clever, Chopper-kun," complimented the Iron Fist doctor with a wide grin. "What gave me away?"

Chopper simply scowled up at his adversary. Usopp looked from one doctor to the other; frustrated that he was missing the pieces to the puzzle that his friend had so easily solved.

"What? Is he an eel or something?"

"Good guess, but not quite, Usopp-kun," hummed Kuroda, all but ignoring the sharpshooter as he turned his attention back to Chopper. The reindeer recoiled slightly, waiting for the doctor's attack, which he was certain would come at any moment—

"Are you a salamander?"

Kuroda turned an unamused stare on the interrupting longnose. "No."

"A snake?"

"No."

"A leech?"

"No."

"Are you sure? You really look like you could be one."

Kuroda frowned, and Chopper could see his shoulders stiffen as he became more and more irritated with Usopp's questioning. "No."

"No, you're not sure? Or, no, you're not a leech?" asked the sharpshooter with a sly grin.

"I'm not a leech."

Usopp hummed and rubbed his chin. "So…you're some sort of spider then?"

The Iron Fist pirate rolled his eyes, his patience wearing thin. "No."

Had the situation not been so dire, Chopper would have been rolling on the floor with laughter. With every failed guess ("Slug?" "No." "Octopus?" "No." "Jellyfish?" "No."), Kuroda became more and more frustrated, his mask of composed indifference falling away to reveal a somewhat flustered awkward man. Soon, the Straw Hat doctor caught onto his friend's plan. Usopp may not have been privy to the same information as his well-educated crewmate, but he was using his lack of knowledge to his advantage. With every question, the sharpshooter was chipping away at Kuroda's control over the situation, making the Iron Fist pirate drop his guard.

"So, are you some sort of legendary type?" Usopp grinned.

Doctor Kuroda heaved a heavy exasperated sigh. "No."

Slowly, Chopper reached for one of the Rumble Balls tucked away in his pocket. By now, his crewmate had managed to completely divert Kuroda's attention onto him and his increasingly outlandish guesses, giving the reindeer a chance to plot a surprise attack.

"Oh! I know!" exclaimed the longnose, thumping his fist into the open palm of his other hand. He smirked. "You're a daddy longlegs, aren't you?"

"N—"

Kuroda's negative response had barely let his lips when Chopper launched his attack. With a muttered "Rumble!" the reindeer crunched down on the Rumble Ball, shivering slightly as he felt the stimulant flood his system. Transforming into his Jumping Point, the Straw Hat doctor launched himself at his distracted adversary with all of the power he could muster. The Iron Fist pirate only managed a stunned, painful grunt as Chopper's shoulder collided with his stomach, the force of the hit sending him flying across the room. Kuroda struck the wall with a dull thud, by some luck landing on his feet. As he staggered away from his impact point on the wall, some of the plaster façade came with him, crumbling and falling to the floor. The enemy doctor pressed a shaking hand to his bruising stomach and glared at the Straw Hats.

"I suppose we're done with the conversation then. That's just as well." Kuroda wiped at a small amount of bile that had begun to dribble from the corner of his mouth. "I was growing weary of your mindless jabbering anyway."

He coiled himself to attack, but wasn't quick enough to counter against the well coordinated Straw Hats. In the short time it had taken the Iron Fist doctor to recover from Chopper's initial strike, Usopp had dug into his bag and loaded Kabuto with a Tobasco Star. The expert marksman easily found his target in the small space, and Kuroda swore angrily, raising his arms protectively over his face as he registered the incoming projectile. He stumbled backwards upon impact, using the wall to brace himself as the hot sauce assaulted his senses. The doctor coughed and hacked, tears running from his eyes as his body fought to expel the fiery liquid, and Chopper found his next opening.

Transforming into his Arm Point, the reindeer struck at his enemy with sharp cloven hooves. He couldn't help but to feel a small amount of satisfaction as he felt Kuroda's ribs crack beneath the force of each strike. The Straw Hat doctor continued his unrelenting attack, until one hit struck with more power than he had intended, causing his adversary to collide with his desk, sending the mess of papers and the fully-laden ashtray flying. Having descended too far into his haze of rage and hatred for the other doctor, Chopper made no pause in his assault. He pounced on the momentarily incapacitated pirate, and wrapped the massive Heavy Point version of his hand around Kuroda's thin neck.

"Doctors are supposed to help people!" Chopper growled, tightening his grip. He could feel Kuroda's pulse pounding against his palm, and the enemy doctor struggled beneath him, trying desperately to throw the human-reindeer's crushing weight. Kuroda gasped as he fought for air, his long fingers clawing at Chopper's furry wrist. Somewhere deep down, the Straw Hat doctor questioned his actions. He had never killed before, and the hypocrisy of his own words gnawed away at his conscience and his determination.

"Chopper!" The angry reindeer twitched as he heard a familiar voice break his concentration, but didn't relinquish his hold on Kuroda's throat. He felt a hand grab his shoulder and shake him, and the wall of hateful red haze cleared enough for him to properly hear Usopp's voice. "Chopper, stop! You'll kill him! He could still help us find Sanji! Chopper! CHOPPER!"

Chopper jerked upright and blinked, letting go of his enemy's neck as he did so. Standing, he backed away from the prone pirate, and cast an apologetic look on his friend. "I'm sorry, Usopp. I don't think I've ever been so angry before."

"It's okay," reassured the sharpshooter with a shaky smile. He pulled a length of rope from his bag and offered it to his crewmate. "Let's tie him up just to be sure, then we'll make him help u—"

A foot to the stomach cut Usopp short as the impact sent him flying across the room and into the wall. Chopper spun on his formerly incapacitated adversary, only to meet the same fate as his friend. They had underestimated the incredible length of the Iron Fist doctor's legs, and the strength housed within them. Still in his Heavy Point form, the reindeer grunted when he felt the sole of Kuroda's shoe strike the most vulnerable and tender spot of his abdomen, effectively knocking the air out of his lungs and sending him reeling into the wall opposite of the one Usopp had just hit. Stunned by the well-placed kick, Chopper's legs gave out beneath him, and he fell to the ceramic tile floor as he fought for air.

"Your friend was right, I could help you find Sanji-kun," said Kuroda with no small amount of anger as he stood. The Iron Fist doctor coughed, and Chopper saw blood staining his teeth. Kuroda scowled and rubbed at his already bruising throat. "But, as I said before, I have no intention of sharing him. You should have killed me when you had the chance."

With those words, he spun and advanced on Usopp, who seemed to be suffering from the same symptoms as Chopper. Using the wall to brace himself, the sharpshooter climbed to his feet, his knees shaking violently as he faced the Iron Fist pirate.

"Don't—Don't come any closer!" he warned, notching some new ammunition in Kabuto and pulling the string taut. "Any minute now, my legions of followers will—"

"Yes, yes, we've already heard your lie," said Kuroda, his singsong voice suddenly sounding much more menacing than it had before. "Now let me tell you a fundamental truth…never pick a fight with a doctor. Do you know why?"

Usopp's eyes widened as the Iron Fist doctor came within range. Across the small infirmary, Chopper tried and failed to stand, the nausea and dizziness resulting from Kuroda's kick overwhelming his senses.

"No one, absolutely no one, knows more about how to inflict pain and damage upon the human body than a doctor."

Instantly understanding the danger he was in, the sharpshooter released Kabuto's pouch, sending the self-made weapon within flying toward his enemy. Kuroda smiled grimly as he sidestepped the projectile, letting it whizz harmlessly past his ear and into the wall above Chopper's head. Crouching low, the doctor lashed out at Usopp with his deceptively strong leg. His kick met its mark for the second time, and the long-nosed pirate's left knee cracked loudly upon impact. Usopp yelped, and stumbled backwards against the crumbling plaster before his knee completely gave out and he slumped to the floor.

"Shall I tell you about my Devil Fruit?" asked Kuroda. He bent and wrapped his long fingers around the sharpshooter's neck, lifting him from the bloodstained tile and pinning him to the wall. "You were so keen to know about it before."

Usopp opened his mouth as if to answer, but only managed a painful gurgle in response. His face was turning red as he fought for air, and he kicked his uninjured leg at his abuser, but to no avail. Chopper could see wild panic start to grip the sharpshooter as they both realized that they were sorely outmatched.

"You see, I've eaten the Toad Toad Fruit," explained the Iron Fist doctor, his voice dangerously calm. "But it wasn't just any toad. My powers belong to those of the cane toad. Do you know why this is significant?"

Usopp simply shook his head, his eyes wide with terror. Kuroda grinned.

"As Chopper-kun has already so cleverly deduced, the cane toad produces a venom called Bufotoxin, which has a variety of…_applications_. Through careful study and practice, I've managed to train my body to produce only the most specific chemicals to suit my needs. However,"—He reached up with his free hand and forced the trapped sharpshooter's mouth open—"when the pure Bufotoxin is ingested, it is quite deadly."

Finally fully understanding Kuroda's intent, Usopp began to struggle in earnest. Chopper watched in horror as the Iron Fist doctor's grip tightened around his friend's neck. Trying and failing to stand once more, the reindeer felt bitter impotence grip his heart and squeeze hard. Kuroda was going to kill his nakama right in front of him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Usopp started to tremble violently, tears running from his eyes, when he felt the enemy doctor slip his fingers, now slick with venom, inside his mouth. The longnose grimaced at the foul taste as the poison was absorbed into his system. Once he was satisfied that the appropriate dose had been administered, Doctor Kuroda removed his hand and used it to hold the Straw Hat sniper's jaw shut.

"Can you feel it working yet, Usopp-kun?" sneered the doctor. His grip around Usopp's neck relaxed as he took note of the sharpshooter's waning strength. Sweat broke out on the Straw Hat pirate's furrowed brow, and he groaned through his forcibly clenched teeth. Kuroda's cold grin widened as he leaned in close. "Ah, there it is. The pain that you're feeling in your chest and stomach is only the beginning. Soon, you'll feel your heart rate slow, until you can't breathe anymore. It's truly terrifying, the sensation of your heart beating at a fraction of its normal pace. But it won't last long, because within a few minutes…"—Kuroda's next words came out as a loud, mocking whisper—"…you'll _die_."

The shaking sweaty hands that had been clawing desperately at the doctor's wrist fell away as Usopp's body went limp; and Chopper finally found his feet.

"You bastard!" cried the human-reindeer, launching himself at his adversary.

Doctor Kuroda turned a calm heavy-lidded gaze upon the Straw Hat, casually tossing aside Usopp's near-lifeless body as he met the reindeer's attack. Usopp hit the wall above the bed with a sickening thud, and then fell behind it, causing the metal legs to screech horribly on the tile as the furniture moved away upon impact. Still in his Heavy Point form, Chopper swung a wild punch at Kuroda's head, which the Iron Fist pirate easily dodged, sidestepping the heavy furry fist.

"I'm a little disappointed, Chopper-kun," goaded Kuroda as he continued to dodge the reindeer's furious attacks. "You're so clever…I really thought you would have seen this coming."

Too enraged to really hear what the Iron Fist doctor was saying, Chopper roared and lashed out at his enemy again. Kuroda grinned as he ducked out of reach of the wide swinging punch, and landed a bone-bruising kick to the human-reindeer's hip. The pain of the new injury sent the Straw Hat staggering backwards further into the infirmary. He clutched at the sore spot and gasped for air. Quickly catching his breath, Chopper looked up and swore. During the fight, he had somehow allowed Kuroda to maneuver closer to the door, opening his path for escape. Behind him, he could hear Usopp's ragged breathing. He spared a quick glance over his shoulder to his morbidly injured friend, provoking the Iron Fist doctor's grin to widen.

"I keep an antidote, you know," said Kuroda, "just in case one of my patients has an adverse reaction."

Chopper glared at the other doctor. He could feel fatigue from the heat and his new injuries gripping his body, and concern for Usopp's rapidly declining condition nagged at his mind. He had to defeat Kuroda, absolutely had to. The Iron Fist doctor was too great of a threat to Sanji and his other crewmates, but his first and foremost priority had to be the dying friend behind him.

"Usopp!" Chopper whispered loudly, never taking his eyes off of Kuroda, who seemed eager to escape. "Usopp! Hang in there!"

Usopp only moaned in response, his body jerking violently on the floor, causing the bed to move further across the ceramic tile, as a fresh wave of pain clutched at his chest and stomach. Chopper felt a shiver run up his spine at his crewmate's pained sounds. The sharpshooter's strength was ebbing, as were the effects of his Rumble Ball.

"Your friend is running out of time, Chopper-kun," Doctor Kuroda practically hummed as he stepped closer to the open door. "Without an antidote, Usopp-kun will die. Is the slim chance at my defeat really worth risking your crewmate's life?"

The Straw Hat doctor could feel panic start to grip him. Kuroda was right, Usopp was fading, and fast. Even if he let the enemy doctor go, he wasn't sure that he could find and administer the antidote in time. But if he continued to fight, the extra time that combat would take would almost certainly lead to the sharpshooter's demise. But what if Kuroda took Sanji? What if he used the window of time given him to escape the island and disappear with the missing cook, never to be found again? Chopper shuddered at the thought as he remembered the words he had read on that little waxed packet. The Iron Fist doctor had used his unique abilities to create a powerful aphrodisiac that the reindeer had no doubt could turn deadly. And, based on the evidence he had seen in that rank little cell, it nearly had. What if Kuroda subjected Sanji to the same torture again? As both a doctor and a friend, he couldn't let that happen.

"Ch-Chopper." Usopp's gasping stutter broke the reindeer's panicked, cyclical thoughts. "Don-Don't worry about…me. You have…have to st-stop Kuroda."

It was all Chopper could do to not turn his back on his enemy right then and there. What was Usopp saying?

"But, Usopp, you'll—"

"I'll be—I'll be fine," insisted the sharpshooter between gasping breaths. "Jus-Just make…it quick…okay?"

The reindeer let a grim, determined smile form at his friend's half-joke. "You got it."

"Usopp-kun is quite brave, going to his death so easily," mocked Kuroda, having watched the entire exchange with thinly veiled amusement. "It's a shame that it will all be in vain. You understand you will have to die as well."

"We'll see about that!" snarled Chopper, lunging at the Iron Fist doctor with renewed vigor.

He swung a heavy fist at Kuroda, only to have his punch meet empty air once again. Spinning on his heel, the reindeer took advantage of the last seconds remaining on his Rumble Ball to transform into his Arm Point, sending several quick jabs of his sharp hooves the enemy's way. Unfortunately, the Iron Fist pirate was prepared for his attacks, and continued to expertly dodge, and even managed to land the occasional kick to Chopper's chest, stomach, shoulder, and back. As the Straw Hat doctor took hit after hit, he couldn't help but to think that this should have been Sanji's fight, that the missing cook would have known exactly how to defeat Kuroda. All too soon, the effects of the Rumble Ball wore off, and Chopper found himself panting, his Heavy Point body bruised, bloody, and aching from the other doctor's well-placed attacks.

"What's the matter, Chopper-kun?" asked the Iron Fist doctor with a wide grin. "You seem tired."

Chopper made no move to respond, focusing his attention on the sound of Usopp's breathing instead. The sharpshooter's breaths were weaker and shallower, but still there. He turned back to the other doctor, a dangerous glare darkening his features. "You won't get away with this."

"Oh, but I will," grinned Kuroda. "Do you know why?"

Chopper made no response; half of his attention diverted to Usopp's increasingly labored breathing. Distracted from his looming enemy, the reindeer didn't see the high swung kick until it was too late. Stars exploded before the Straw Hat doctor's vision as Kuroda's heel connected with the side of his head, knocking his hat off and sending it flying across the room as he tumbled to the floor.

"Your inexperience betrays you," mocked the doctor, advancing slowly on the stunned human-reindeer. "It will be your downfall, Chopper-kun. I have been practicing medicine since before you were born. Did you really think that you could outsmart me? I know more about the human body and how to disable it than you possibly could."

The Straw Hat doctor's eyes widened and the world fell away as a thought occurred to him. Yes, Doctor Kuroda was more experienced. The man definitely knew more about bipedal anatomy; he had proved as much simply by the action of so easily incapacitating the two Straw Hats. Chopper's brow furrowed in grim determination. _But I'm not human._

Slowly but surely, Chopper climbed to his feet to face the enemy doctor once more.

"You're right, you do know more about the human body, and you do have more experience than me," conceded the Straw Hat doctor, locking Kuroda with a determined glare, "but you made one vital mistake in your calculations…"

He watched the Iron Fist doctor's jaw drop ever so slightly open as he transformed into his Walking Point, taking on his true, natural shape.

"I'm not a human. I'm a reindeer."

Doctor Kuroda backed up a step as Chopper lowered his head, putting his antlers level with the pirate's stomach. He had seen the damage that antlers could do to the most tender parts of a living thing's body. The Drum Island doctor had witnessed such injuries at a younger age, when the other reindeer in his herd had been in rut; and he still bore the scars, hidden beneath thick fur, from when the boney growths had pierced his own flesh as he was forcibly rejected by his own kind. It had been these experiences that had inspired his Horn Point; however, he had never thought to use his naturally formed antlers for such a task. Not that he had much of a choice now.

Chopper snorted menacingly through his blue nose and pawed at the tile floor as he had seen other males in his herd do before. The fur on his back bristled as nearly forgotten natural instincts flooded his system. The Straw Hat noted with a small amount of satisfaction that the scare tactics seemed to be working. With every second that passed, Kuroda cautiously backed up a little more, and his composed amusement fell away to reveal panic.

Silence permeated the small infirmary as the two doctors eyed each other, and Chopper's ears pricked up and lay back as they sought auditory stimuli. Something wasn't right here.

A deafening crack of thunder split the air outside the compound just as the Straw Hat doctor realized that he could no longer hear Usopp's ragged breathing. Blinded by fresh searing rage, the reindeer reacted to the massive, earthshaking thunderclap as if it were a starting pistol, lunging at his enemy. Doctor Kuroda stumbled backwards into the open doorway, trying to escape the charging animal, but he wasn't quick enough. The sound of the thunder was still ringing in Chopper's ears when he collided with the other pirate, catching him in the stomach with his antlers. Moving too quickly to stop, the reindeer carried his adversary out of the room, ramming him into the mud brick wall of the hallway. Leaping with all of the strength remaining in his legs, Chopper raised his head as they made impact in a tangle of limbs, antlers, clothing, and fur. Hot, thick blood spilled from Kuroda's mortal wounds as the Straw Hat pirate drove his antlers upward underneath the doctor's ribcage, and Chopper heard his adversary grunt and gasp as the overwhelming pain washed over him. But the reindeer had no intention of relenting.

Long fingers grabbed desperately at the thick fur around his neck, and then at his antlers as Kuroda thrashed against him. The Iron Fist pirate's blood felt wet and heavy as it rained down onto Chopper's head, neck, and shoulders, sticking to and staining his fur as it clotted in the formerly soft strands. Soon, the anger that had so blinded the Straw Hat doctor flowed out of him along with Kuroda's strength, and he relaxed as he felt the man go limp on top of him.

Slowly, and with some difficulty, Chopper removed his antlers from Kuroda's body, drawing a pained, gurgling gasp from the Iron Fist doctor as he did so. As the reindeer backed away, Kuroda slowly slid to the floor, his own blood smearing the cracked mud brick that he had been thrown against. Somehow, in spite of his grievous injuries, the tall pirate was still breathing—albeit, with great effort—and was clinging to the edge of consciousness. The reindeer studied him for a moment, the reality of what he had just done slowly settling in, making him shiver, and then he remembered Usopp. Swearing to himself, Chopper turned his back on Kuroda—the doctor was no longer a threat—and ran back into the destroyed infirmary.

By the time he reached the bed, he had already returned to his Heavy Point form, and he made use of his human hands, pulling the bed further away from the wall with what was perhaps a little more force than necessary. The reindeer felt his heart skip a beat when he saw Usopp lying motionless on the tile. The sharpshooter was completely unresponsive. His brow was furrowed in an unconscious grimace, his face and body twisted from the agonizing pain caused by Kuroda's venom. Usopp's hand clutched at his overalls over his heart, and Chopper could see scratches where his fingernails had clawed at his skin, as if in a desperate attempt to restart the malfunctioning organ.

With as much care as he could take while still moving with the practiced urgency of an emergency surgeon, the Straw Hat doctor dragged his friend from behind the bed and checked his vital signs. Usopp's skin, though slick with sweat, was oddly cold to the touch despite the intense heat, and when Chopper pressed his fingers to the sharpshooter's neck, he found no pulse.

"N-No…No! It can't be!" cried Chopper, tears raining from his eyes, mingling with the blood that stuck to his fur, as he desperately began to give his clinically dead friend chest compressions. "Dammit, Usopp! You promised! Breath! Please, just breath!"

Chopper's bruised body shook from exertion as he continued to beat on the sharpshooter's chest, pausing only to blow air into his friend's lungs. Soon, he could feel Usopp's ribs cracking beneath the downward force of each thrust, but the doctor kept doggedly on. He wouldn't let his nakama die like this, not after he had been so brave.

Every second seemed like an hour as Chopper continued in his desperate attempt to save his crewmate's life with no results. The reindeer didn't even twitch when he heard footsteps in the hall outside the infirmary, or when Nami gasped from the doorway, or when Robin spoke to him. For Chopper, the rest of the world no longer existed. All he could concentrate on was the clammy skin beneath his hands, and the fear gripping his heart, and the guilt biting at his conscience, as he fought to bring Usopp back from the dead.

* * *

Sorry for the cliffy...(not) *evillaugh*

Next up, the conclusion to this battle, and Zoro vs. Saul. I'm _really_ starting to miss writing Sanji. DX

As always, please review! They make me very happy, and really help to motivate.

**/edit/ **I completely forgot to mention (probably because I hastily uploaded this before leaving for work yesterday) a SUPER virtual high five to WhiteCourtain for guessing Kuroda's Devil Fruit! Thank you for putting up with my pathetic hints. Stay tuned for your reward...it will be epic. **/edit/**


	20. Chapter 20

Finally, Chapter 21. My apologies for the obscenely long wait. Remember...

This fic is **rated M.**

I do not own One Piece.

* * *

As far as Chopper was concerned, nothing else in the world existed. The Iron Fist Pirates, their hellish island, the sunken galleon at the reef, his own burnt out infirmary, his crewmates desperately trying to get his attention—all the noise from both external and internal stimuli fell on deaf ears and a shattered mind. Even his concern for Sanji was forgotten in light of the unmoving, unbreathing friend at his knees. The Straw Hat doctor had long since lost count of the number of sets of chest compressions he had done and the minutes that had passed since Usopp stopped breathing. In that moment, all the reindeer was aware of was the depth and rate of each downward thrust and the way the sharpshooter's ribs cracked beneath the force and his head lolling lifelessly to the side.

Somewhere, deep down, logic told the Straw Hat doctor that it was hopeless. All of his studies and experience said that when a patient had been without signs of life for so long, that time of death must be called. But Chopper would not—_could_ not—accept such a grim truth. Usopp had to live, and the reindeer wouldn't stop his lifesaving procedures until he saw his friend breath.

"Chopper." The reindeer twitched when he felt a soft hand on his shoulder, not really hearing Robin speak until her Flower Flower Fruit hands sprang from the floor and pulled him away. It occurred to him as he turned to her that this may very well be the first time the archaeologist had called him by name. "Chopper, you have to stop."

Suddenly, the world returned to the doctor with crushing force, and he rocked backwards on his knees so he sat on his feet.

"He—He told me not to worry!" sobbed Chopper, tears obscuring his view of his friend's body. "He said he would be okay! But I knew better!" He angrily punched the floor, cracking the tile and the skin over his knuckles. "If only I had been stronger or faster or—or—"

The rest of his bitter confession never made it past his lips as he broke down, crying uncontrollably and clutching at Usopp's overalls. He had failed, not only as a doctor, but as a crewmate and as a friend. Guilt washed over Chopper like a tidal wave, and his shoulders shook with each gasping sob. At some point he saw Nami fall to her knees on the other side of Usopp's body through his blurry veil of tears. The navigator was pale and grief-stricken, and her hands shook as she smoothed the wrinkles from their friend's clothes and the sweat-soaked hair away from his face. Somehow, it had never occurred to them that one of them might die. They had all been so focused on Sanji that they hadn't given their own well-being a second thought.

"Doctor-san?"

Chopper shuddered when he felt Robin gently squeeze his shoulder, not wanting physical contact while wallowing in his sadness, guilt, and self-hate.

"Doctor-san," repeated the archaeologist, this time a little louder. "Isn't this an infirmary?" Chopper thought he could hear a slight tremor in Robin's voice in spite of her best efforts to remain calm. "Surely, there is something else we could try?"

The reindeer frustratedly shook his head. What else was there to do? Usopp was dead. There was no repairing that.

"_I keep an antidote, you know…"_

The memory of Doctor Kuroda's mocking echoed in Chopper's ears, provoking fresh bitter tears. What good would an anti-venom do if Usopp was already dead?

"…_in case any of my patients have an adverse reaction."_

Chopper furrowed his brow. Had this kind of thing happened before? Kuroda didn't seem like the kind to be willing to lose a patient. No doctor was. If their Hippocratic Oath or compassion wasn't the reason, then at the very least pride kept doctors' helpless patients alive.

What the reindeer had found in Sanji's prison cell told him that the Iron Fist doctor wasn't immune to accidents. That, even if unintentional, his concoctions and medicines could do damage. But the evidence pointed to Sanji having survived being poisoned by Kuroda's Bufotoxin. Just what had the other doctor done to save him?

Wiping his eyes clear of the tears that blurred them, Chopper stood and numbly made his way to Kuroda's carefully organized shelves, picking up his formerly discarded hat from the floor beneath them before examining the other doctor's wares. The Iron Fist doctor had an impressive assortment of ingredients, even if his supplies seemed to be low. It didn't take much searching for the reindeer to find the anti-venom. The bottle of it sat on a shelf directly over the desk, and the broken seal told the Straw Hat doctor that it had been used recently. But, again, an antidote was useless if Usopp's heart wasn't beating.

Chopper could hear Nami crying as he continued to search through the shelves, and the occasional sniffle from the doorway indicated that Franky was shedding tears of his own. As he combed through the multitude of bottles and boxes and jars, Chopper found himself increasingly impressed with Kuroda's carefully kept inventory. The Iron Fist doctor really had been prepared for every eventuality. The reindeer committed the location of each ingredient and medicine to memory as he read Kuroda's sloppy scrawl on the labels. There was potassium, acetaminophen, ipecac, adrenaline, glucose, aspirin…_wait._

Chopper's head whipped back to the label he had just skimmed over so quickly that he felt his neck pop. _Was that?_

"It-It can't be," gasped Chopper, fresh tears welling up in his eyes as he reached out to grasp the small bottle in his hand. He read the label a second time, just to be sure, and felt hope warm his body from head to toe as his suspicions were confirmed. He could still save Usopp.

"Robin, Nami, I need your help," said the Straw Hat doctor, pulling his find, the anti-venom, and a couple of syringes from the shelves. "Hurry!"

Emboldened by their doctor's sudden change in demeanor, the archaeologist and the navigator sprang to their feet. Chopper spoke quickly and with authority as he filled each syringe.

"Nami, I need you to sit by Usopp's head and turn it to the side. Make sure it stays turned, or he might choke. Robin"—he handed the needle containing the anti-venom to the archaeologist—"as soon as he's breathing, give him the antidote." Chopper grimly looked his crewmates in the eye. "We have to hurry. This could save him, but it might already be too late."

"What are you going to do, Chopper?" asked Nami as she knelt by the top of Usopp's head and turned it until his right cheek touched the tile. She eyed the other syringe in her friend's hand curiously. "What is that?"

"This," said Chopper, returning to his position beside the prone sharpshooter, "is adrenaline. It should restart his heart."

With newly found determination and a silent prayer that his plan would work, the Straw Hat doctor aligned the adrenaline-filled syringe over his crewmate's heart. He paused for a moment, glancing up to make sure that Nami and Robin were prepared. The navigator and the archaeologist each gave him a silent nod. It was now or never.

"Okay then." With those words, Chopper plunged the needle into his friend's unmoving chest and compressed the plunger, rapidly pumping the adrenaline into Usopp's heart. There was tense, heavy silence for a fraction of a second, and the doctor had just begun to think that all really was lost when the life-saving chemical kicked in.

Usopp's eyes snapped open and his body spasmed as he gasped for air.

"Now, Robin!" cried Chopper, doing his best to hold the sharpshooter still.

The archaeologist needed no second urging. Her normally calm, neutral expression broke for a moment, her brow furrowing and the corners of her mouth turning down as she administered the anti-venom.

Usopp let out a pained groan as the antidote took effect, his body shuddering and shaking on the floor. Nami almost let go of his head, but a silently mouthed "No" from Chopper kept her in place. She had just repositioned the awakening sharpshooter's head when he began to vomit. Suddenly, she understood why the doctor had given her the directions that he had; without his head turned, Usopp surely would have choked.

Soon, Usopp's convulsions passed, and Chopper gently rolled him onto his side to ease his breathing. The Straw Hats sat in silence for several minutes, simply listening to their friend's gasping breaths. The action was still a little labored, but it was there. Usopp was alive.

Finally, the sharpshooter moaned, his muscles twitching as he tried to curl into a ball on the floor and his long nose wrinkling at the foul odor of his stomach contents on the tile before him.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice coming out in an exhausted croak. "Did we win?"

Chopper pressed his lips together, trying to get his emotions in check before attempting to answer, but it was no use.

"You stupid idiot!" cried the human-reindeer, tears of joy running from his eyes as he scooped up his friend in a back-breaking bear (reindeer?) hug. "Don't ever do that again!"

Usopp lasted all of thirty seconds in the doctor's tight embrace before he got uncomfortable.

"Ch-Chopper," wheezed Usopp, squirming in his friend's grip. "Chopper, I can't breathe."

Had he not been covered in fur, Chopper would have paled at the statement. "What?! You can't breathe?! Is it the Bufotoxin?! Someone call a doctor!"

"I believe Longnose-kun is referring to your hug," Robin reassured with a shaky smile.

The Straw Hat doctor sat momentarily stunned until another wiggle from Usopp snapped him from his stupor and he put him down. The sharpshooter frowned and rubbed at his sore sides, wincing when he began to really feel the pain from his cracked ribs. Pressing a hand to the tender spot, he looked at the others, still unsure of what exactly was going on.

"So, what happened?" he reiterated. He turned to Chopper. "Did we beat him?"

Chopper nodded slowly, his expression grim, and opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Nami.

"You were dead," she said, her voice small and hollow. The Straw Hats turned to face their navigator, who still sat on the tile, visibly shaken. Nami's eyes were wide with waning terror as she spoke, and Usopp was suddenly reminded of the morning after Sanji's abduction. His friend had just seen something horrifying and painful, and it was taking her some time to process it. Nami continued to give him her wide-eyed stare, as if not entirely believing that he was indeed sitting before her living and breathing, and then her expression shifted. Just as when clouds blocking the sun move away, the saddened darkness behind her eyes lifted and she suddenly lashed out, punching the sharpshooter in the shoulder. Usopp rocked backwards on impact, and was grateful for Chopper's steadying hand on his shoulder as he would have likely fallen over otherwise.

"What was that for?!" he whined, rubbing at the new sore spot. The navigator's punch hadn't been as hard as usual, but it still hurt.

"Don't ever scare me like that again!" snapped Nami, all but bearing fangs at the stunned sharpshooter. Her features softened. "I'm just…really glad you're alive."

Usopp could only smile shakily in response, his gaze moving from one relieved face to the next. It really had been a close call. It was then that he noticed the nasty gash on Robin's shoulder, the fresh bruises on Nami's arms and legs, and the blood dripping from the hem of Franky's shirt to the tile at his feet. The other Straw Hats' conditions seemed to register with Chopper at about the same time. Uttering something between a squeak, a gasp, and a "You're hurt!", the reindeer rushed over and ushered Franky over to the nearly destroyed bed. The cyborg grimaced slightly as he sat on the bloodstained sheets, but otherwise seemed grateful to be sitting.

As the doctor patched up their injuries, Nami filled them in on what had happened at the entrance of the compound. How the horde of Iron Fists had been so eager to get their hands on the navigator and the archaeologist; how Franky had taken severe injuries to his back protecting her; and how the pirates had fallen to their two original targets. Nami paused at the last revelation, frowning and staring at her hands folded across her lap.

"Original targets?" asked Chopper, stopping midway through wrapping a bandage around Robin's shoulder and arm—he had already finished with Franky.

Nami nodded slowly, and the hands resting on her lap balled into fists. "Those bastards…said that Sanji got into a fight with them because he overheard them planning to take Robin or me." Angry tears collected in the corners of her eyes and she glared at the streaks of Sanji's blood on the tile. "He always does such stupid, reckless things! And this time—this time it might actually kill him."

"No," Usopp said firmly and with finality, pulling Nami's gaze away from the blood on the floor to her friend, still pale and shaking from his recent brush with death. "He won't die so easily. He said that these guys were nothing that we couldn't handle, and I believe him. Think about it, you beat all those guys by yourselves, Kuroda's dead, and I'll bet you anything that Luffy and Zoro won't have any trouble at all."

Nami stared at him for a moment. Since when was Usopp the optimist in the group? She wiped away her tears with quivering hands and forced a small smile. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Did you say that Kuroda was dead?" asked Robin, breaking the moment of Straw Hat bonding with ease.

"Isn't he?" asked the sharpshooter, his eyes wide. He turned to Chopper. "_Isn't he?!_"

"We didn't see a body," stated Robin with a straight face, "just a lot of blood."

Frowning deeply, Chopper peered out into the hallway, the fur on his back bristling slightly when he found it empty. At some point during his desperate attempt to save Usopp's life, the Iron Fist doctor had managed to pick himself up in spite of his grievous injuries and disappear.

"Robin's right," he said, turning back to Usopp. "He's gone."

"Then we have to find Sanji!" yelped the sharpshooter, trying to stand. "If he gets to him first, won't he—" No sooner had Usopp stood than his left knee gave out beneath him and he fell to the floor. Swearing under his breath, he clutched at the injured joint.

"I don't think that he's too much of a threat now, but we should still try to find Sanji first," said Chopper as he and Nami helped Usopp to his feet.

Ever thoughtful of his friend's injuries, the Straw Hat doctor placed the sharpshooter's arm over Nami's shoulder. The redhead did nothing to protest the action, and gripped Usopp's wrist firmly, wrapping her other arm around his waist to help support him as he walked. The pair tried their best not to picture what Chopper must have done to other doctor as they slowly made their way out of the wrecked infirmary in into the blood-spattered hall, followed closely by Robin. Turning to Franky, who had been oddly quiet for the entire ordeal, likely from a combination between his exhaustion and injuries, Chopper made to help him up only to pause as a thought occurred to him. The cyborg watched in silence as the human-reindeer bent and retrieved the tangled sheet from the floor, trapping the balled up fabric under one arm. Then he helped his crewmate off of the bed, his Heavy Point form shouldering Franky's weight with a little more ease than Nami and Robin had.

"You okay?" asked the doctor as his crewmate swayed unsteadily on his feet.

"I'm super, bro," grinned Franky. "Just give me a little longer, and I'll be fine."

Chopper nodded and readjusted his grip on the sheet so he could support Franky more easily as they followed their crewmates into the darkened hallway. They would find Sanji. They had to. Chopper gave his friends a determined look as they gathered outside of the infirmary's open doorway. "Let's go."

* * *

Captain Miles lowered his spyglass and adjusted his Marine cap so it sat more securely on his salt-and-pepper hair, feeling an overwhelming surge of pride for his team of navigators. After the storm that they had passed through, the marine captain had been certain that they had lost their quarry. But now here they were, not a day later, and they had found the notorious pirates once again. Standing at the stern of the Navire, Captain Miles could easily see the small island with its wide black beech and thick darkened jungle through his spyglass, and, parked beside it, the Straw Hats' ship.

Miles had been following the crew of rooky pirates for the last two weeks—always keeping just out of sight and reach—in hopes that the tenacious Straw Hats would lead him to the Iron Fists. There had been a few close calls when he had been certain that the pirates had seen his vessel and his crew had readied themselves for defense, but no attack ever came. The Straw Hats seemed to be completely preoccupied with their own vendetta against Standish, which Miles was grateful for, if only for the sake of his men.

Their pursuit of the two pirate crews hadn't been an easy one. The storm the day before hadn't been the first time that they had momentarily lost their prey. The marines had spent half of a very tense day looking for the Straw Hats after they had given them the slip near a mid-sized island nearly a week before. Captain Miles had been more than a little irritated with his subordinates during that particular incident, though he had quickly forgotten his frustration when he had received word from the two missing marines that he had sent to spy on the pirates.

The connection between the two Transponder Snails had been poor at best and the message garbled, but the marine captain had been pleased to learn that his wayward men were safe, unharmed even, and that they had managed to acquire some new information on the Straw Hats. It had been difficult to understand what the two excited soldiers were saying, between the sound fading in and out and the men trying to speak over one another, but he had gathered that Monkey D. Luffy's mission was one of vengeance. It seemed that Cat Burglar Nami had survived and somehow escaped an attack by the brutal Iron Fists, and that the Straw Hats were out for blood because of it.

It hadn't surprised the marine captain to hear that the two pirate crews were feuding; it was natural for these types of people to fight amongst themselves. Violence had become all too common during the rise of this so-called "Great Pirate Era". Captain Miles had watched from a safe distance as the Straw Hats sank the Iron Fists' galleon. His men had gasped in shock at the massive explosion, the sounds of each bomb igniting audible despite the distance and the muffling effect of the intense humidity. The fight at the reef had been brutal, and the captain silently hoped that Luffy and Standish and their respective crews would wear each other down enough to ease their capture. Captain Miles's crew was a small and relatively inexperienced one. He knew that they were no match for the sheer size of Standish's horde, and doubted that they would last long against the deceptively strong Straw Hats. Captain Charles Miles was nothing if not a careful study of his foes. The Straw Hats would almost definitely defeat the Iron Fists, but the battle would take a lot from the rooky pirate crew. Using this to his advantage, he would be able to arrest any survivors and bring them to justice. He would just have to be sure to time it right.

"Captain Miles, sir." The private saluted at his captain's right shoulder, snapping him from his reverie and drawing his attention away from the still smoldering wreckage at the distant reef. The young marine's posture stiffened and straightened when Miles turned to face him, his expression tense as he worked to impress the more experienced soldier. "Sir, Doctor Smalley wants to see you in the infirmary."

Captain Miles frowned and nodded, making his way toward the infirmary with a curt "At ease soldier" to the nervously waiting marine. He had been waiting anxiously for the doctor's summons. It had been only a few days before when the Navire had had another near miss at being discovered by the Straw Hats. A merchant vessel had not-so-subtly hailed them, and Miles had watched with a mixture of frustration and disappointment as the pirates he had so diligently been chasing disappeared from sight once again. But the merchants' reason for contacting the marine ship had been a good one and had more aided than hindered them in the end.

Doctor Smalley's office was one door before the infirmary, and Miles was pleased to find him inside. The only other sailor aboard the Navire that was of the captain's generation, Doctor Archibald Smalley was a large man. He was of slightly above average height with a broad chest and defined, muscular arms. Hair that had once been red was darkening and greying with age and a sizeable gut spilled over his Navy-issued slacks. Weary blue eyes looked up from a small mountain of paperwork as Captain Miles entered the small office, and the captain felt his chest tighten to see his friend and brother-in-arms look so worn. The two of them had gone through training together; they had been young men fresh out of the Naval Academy when the so-called Pirate King had been executed. Though they had spent many years apart in the turmoil that followed, they had remained close. Captain Miles had been overjoyed when Smalley was assigned to his vessel, thankful both for having the competent, talented physician on board and for the company of at least one person his age amongst the very young, very inexperienced crew.

"How is she, Archie?" asked the captain, easily dropping any military formalities as he addressed his friend.

"Better…stable," answered Doctor Smalley after a short pause. He stood slowly, his girth crowding the small office, and headed for the door. "She's been asking for you."

Captain Miles silently followed the doctor out of the office and into the infirmary. As with all other navy ships, the Navire's sick bay was decently sized and well-equipped. However, Doctor Smalley, out of a combination between experience and pure zeal for his work, had ensured that this particular ship had a state-of-the-art adjoining operating room and the latest in government-approved devices and medications. The Navire's ship doctor had been involved in the World Government's medical research program before being shipped off to the remotest parts of the Grand Line as punishment for some sort of scandal that he never spoke of. That, however, hadn't stopped the physician from demanding and expecting no less than the best.

Of the three twin-sized hospital beds, only one was occupied, and Sgt. Bailey looked up eagerly when she heard her captain enter. Her face immediately brightened when her eyes landed on Miles, but did little to dull the impact of her condition.

Sgt. Bailey was in rough shape. Her face, arms, and legs carried multiple scrapes and bruises from her short time spent as the Iron Fists' captive, and she was still a little shaky as she recovered from the malnutrition and dehydration resulting from the days she had spent alone at sea before the merchant vessel had found her. Even at a distance, Captain Miles could smell the mixture of aloe and antiseptic that had been used to treat her sunburned skin; and he very nearly flinched every time he saw the red, blistering burn that colored his subordinate's cheeks and nose.

"Captain Miles, sir!" Bailey smartly saluted her superior, wincing slightly as she raised a bandaged arm, stretching at the sunburned skin underneath.

"At ease, Sergeant."

Bailey lowered her hand, placing it gingerly in her blanketed lap. "Mika-chan tells me that we've reached the island."

Captain Miles suppressed a scowl. He would have to remember to give the nurse—Mika—a stern talking to later. "What of it, Sergeant?"

"I would like permission to join the landing party, sir," Bailey said firmly.

This time the captain was unable to school his expression. His eyebrows knit together in almost fatherly concern and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Not happening, Sergeant."

"But, sir!"

"I won't hear it, Sergeant. Smalley says that you're in no condition to leave the infirmary, and I'm inclined to agree with him."

"But—"

"You've been ordered to bed rest, Sergeant. I expect you to obey."

"Yes, but—"

"No 'buts' about it, Sergeant. My orders are final."

"But, sir, I—"

"Dammit, Bailey! I said 'no'!" snapped Miles, having lost all patience with his injured officer.

"Captain, there's something I have to do, and no one is going to stop me!" came Bailey's immediate response. The determined, insubordinate glare that she shot her superior was completely out of character for the normally straight-laced marine, and it immediately caught the captain's attention.

"Then enlighten me, Sergeant," growled Miles.

"There was…" Bailey drifted off, a little unsure of herself under her captain's steely gaze. "There was someone else…a-another captive who helped me escape."

Captain Miles narrowed his eyes at his subordinate. She was withholding something; what it was, though, he couldn't tell. "This other captive, I take it she didn't make it?"

Sergeant Bailey pressed her lips together and silently shook her head. The captain frowned. He had the feeling that whatever the marine wasn't telling him was probably important, but didn't want to push her in her condition. Not to mention that he had the strong feeling that, without this other mystery captive's help, that the sergeant sitting before him, bandaged and exhausted but alive, would still be in the Iron Fists' hands or worse. Releasing an exasperated sigh, Miles turned to Smalley, who had been standing silently beside him for the entire exchange.

"What's your opinion, Doctor?" he asked.

Doctor Smalley studied his patient for a moment. Her determination was admirable, even if it was foolish. "Sergeant Bailey could join the landing party, _provided_"—he put extra emphasis on the word when he saw her smile excitedly—"that she stays at the back of the group and well away from any combat. I'll also send Mika along, just in case."

Captain Miles pinched the bridge of his nose. "Very well, but remember Bailey, you are to obey my every order. I will not have you getting injured further or in the way of capturing these criminals."

Sergeant Bailey nodded enthusiastically. "I won't let you down, sir!"

The captain gave his subordinate a curt, official nod and then left the infirmary, allowing Smalley a chance to prepare his patient for landing as they neared the black sandy shore. Miles clenched his jaw in frustration and balled his hands into fists. At first it had simply been a matter of capturing Standish and his Iron Fist Pirates, then the Straw Hats had been thrown into the mix, and now, to only complicate things further, this invasion had somehow turned into a rescue mission for a complete stranger. And Captain Miles had the sinking feeling that things would only continue to spiral out of his control.

* * *

To be continued...

I know, I know; I promised Zoro vs. Saul for this chapter, but _not_ killing Usopp took a bit longer than I expected, and there were other parts of the plot that needed to be pushed forward. Also, I wanted to dedicate an entire chapter to Zoro's fight. Hee hee, remember Captain Miles and the Navire? It's only been, what, 16 chapters? *faints*

It's ironic, one of the things that irritates me most in One Piece is Sanji's apparent knack for totally and completely disappearing for several chapters/episodes, and here I am doing the same. Dammit, Sanji, where are you?! I miss you!

Erm, anyway...I'll try my best not to have such a mega-gap before the next chapter. Though I do need to do some research into Zoro and his fighting style before I write it.

As always, reviews are appreciated. :)


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